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Icarus Dec 2009
so don't change then
you seem to be perfectly comfortable
in your insanity.
wrestling, withdrawing,
anhedonia coming alive in your party
master wrangler of sorrow,
been there, done that.
and like watching
the christians and the lions,
i am rooting for you
but know you will shed blood.
and when you are devoured enough
you come to life,
crazy sonafabitch.
stay where you are then,
forget em happy pills.
i will go certifiable with you
as long as you do not forget
the lunacy of our love.
Brittany Leigh Feb 2010
'So It Begins...'

once upon a time
there was a girl
who always ran around in circles
figuratively, of course
not literally, because if she was literally always running in circles, she'd pretty soon be dead
but that's neither here nor there. back to the girl
she had no idea that she did this
but everyone around and about
was painfully aware of her issues
she was convinced that she was always coming up with new and exciting ideas
when really she just spent all her time recycling her own idiocy
and she became increasingly irate as all the things that she kept around
even though she would never admit that she intentionally kept them around
started to seem wrong
or used
or just completely foreign
until a magic prince
with a magic want
who totally dug the fact that this chick was entirely self obsessed and weird
and pretty much certifiable
snuck in the middle of the night
and robbed the ***** blind
however
because the guy took all her worthless
pointless
and in the end
meaningless baggage away with him
she replaced her former obsessions with stalking him
and he became her magic want
which he severely regretted soon enough
because with her circular habits
her stalking efforts were not unlike being relentlessly pursued
by a small
angry
but not entirely unaffectionate
chihuahua
he fully intended for her to stalk him from the beginning
but unfortunately
as he had been raised in a pseudo-feministic
yet highly romanticized society
he was under the false impression that once this chick started pursuing him
she would give in to her basest wants
and deep seated but repressed desires
that every girl has but doesn't admit
to ending up with a magic prince
he was wrong
there
was
no
fairytale
and once she caught up with him
the relationship that ensued
became a vicious cycle of marriage, divorce, and remarriage
because he had been ****** in
to her circularity.
the end
Mrs Timetable Feb 2020
If you could
Change your birth certificate
Would you?

If you could
Change your death certificate
Would you?

Are these questions certifiable?
Brent Kincaid Apr 2019
President Comb-Over,
Quite the despicable guy
Got himself elected
But the wise folk wonder why.
Obama wore a tan suit
Conservatives went insane,
But this Wimpy lookalike butterball
Sports a totally artificial mane.

If ****** predation were a soccer game
This **** would win The World Cup.
If you ignored the news and his tweets
You’d think someone made this horror show up.
He’s lied and cheated and swindled his way
In to more lucrative deals than he deserved
Then a large minority of certifiable idiots
Elected him so he could to pretend to serve.

He took the Oath of Office, quite smugly
But that’s where his integrity would end.
He set about making deals for himself
His trophy wives, his offspring and friends.
He made few attempts to cover his tracks,
Mostly just shouted blatantly obvious lies
By which he was fooling no one intelligent.
Just the moronic, the foolish and unwise.

He relied on the vagaries of human nature
That voters are among the laziest humans
And would rather vote for a rascal it seems
Than take a chance on an honest new man
Or woman, or gay or an experienced soul
That could take over the Presidential reins
Instead of driving our country straight to hell
And making huge profits off the remains.

Brent Kincaid
4/23/2019
You say you've got it all figured out,
got the science down at age nine-teen.
I roll my eyes, because that's just silly.
I'm older than you by a year at least,
but regardless, I watch you hitch your
skirt up and strap your heels on before
leaving the house. You think I'm crazy
to stay around only to meander about
in my fuzzy socks and stained sweatshirt.

I'll have you know that I actually quite
enjoy my one-women tea parties with
Ms. Austin and the Bronte girls on a
Friday night. At least I won't get a head
ache from strobe-lights and my utter
confusion when it comes to pretty-looking
cocktails. I realize I probably won't be
seeing you until midmorning anyway
when you stumble rather impressively
into the kitchens still in your club clothes.

You'll make a disgusted noise at my
pillow fort, my coloring books, my
towering stack of certifiable Disney
DVDS and I will pretend not to notice
that you smell like stale sweat, alcohol,
and aftershave.

You will feel compelled to tell me all
about him, all about them, all about all
of last night--down to the last disturbing
detail--and I will burry my face in my cereal
so you can't see the faces I'm making.

Undoubtedly you are bragging
(or so you think), but really, I'd rather
not have had so-and-so pawing at me
all night, because neither you nor I
know where he's been, and I personally
find no appeal in waking up in someone
else's unfamiliar room because my comforter
is super soft and fluffy and I feel like a
princess when I go to bed all clean
and cute in my PJs. This way I can get up
whenever I want and take a shower and
be loud and not have to put the seat up
when I *** or quietly try and find my way
out of someone else's home.

Also, I'm lazy most of the time so
I definitely wouldn't like the walk
home so early in the day. I have to say
that I much prefer my crayons to your
aspirin, my forts to your mysterious
bathrooms, my imaginary sword fights
to your hike home. Most importantly,
I like waking up regretting nothing the
previous the night except that I didn't
get to watch all of Mulan and what her
reflection really shows.
Jonny Angel Jun 2014
I stomped a head
in an unknown village,
broke some ribs
in a city without a name
& crushed a few hands
in a town that
no longer exists.
I insist,
I'm not certifuable,
ain't no lunatic in bdu's,
I was just doing my job.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
I once dated a ******
And I loaned him money.
I laughed out loud in church.
Well! I found it all so funny.
I bought a used Chevy van
Without the proper paperwork.
I tried to get my money back
And the guy called ME a ****.

A friend told me I could buy ****
From a guy on the edge of Watts.
Eleven o’clock at night on his porch
Me, a stranger, waiting. Stupid ****.
Once I knew another guy, not well.
He wanted some dope from me.
I agreed to sell it, then realized
The fellow worked for the FCC.

I let a gal move in with me
A hippie from Haight Ashbury.
She drank my *****, ate my food
Then stole all she could carry.
It was just the kind of thing,
The sixties games we played.
Free love, open heart and then
After all that, I didn’t get laid.

A guy was selling hot TVs
From my place of employ.
A fool and money, you know
Is all about a gullible boy.
And, since the crook was a gal
I fell for it, because naturally,
A nice lady would never, ever
Try to swindle the sweet young me.

A guy was plunking his guitar
With a sign that said he was blind.
I gave him my last buck and
Figured I was just being kind.
At five o’clock, he got up to go
And I thanked my lucky star
That I was not blind like he was
Then I saw him drive away in his car.

Doing stupid things does not mean
That a person it a certifiable idiot.
It can mean that we trust too much
Or that we’re greedy and don’t admit it.
We see a chance to get a profit
Or even to do something nice
Then get stupid, do what we know
Is contrary to all good advice.
Grace Jordan Oct 2014
I'm so, so very tired.

The past two years of the fluctuating, of changing, of tears, of sorrow, of mania, of certifiable madness have drained me. Gods only know how awful I will feel in the years to come, if I feel drained right now. How can I live a lifetime like this?

My fingers are heavy on the keyboard, slamming down every word, like trying to made an imprint of myself on this laptop, so I may live forever somewhere, particularly since it is so likely for me to die.

I hate to admit that. I hate it. I'm not suicidal right now, but in these moments I realize I may be the cause of my own destruction. Correction, it is highly likely I will be. And I am so very tired of fearing everything, including myself.

Tired of all the eyes watching me, and all all the hours wasted crying, and...

I'm trying to find something to pride myself in, and the only thing I can be proud of is the fact I have not pined profusely over a boy in weeks. I have pined, that is true, its hard for one like myself not to fantasize and latch onto someone. But I have not felt the heavy weight in my chest of being so in love that it hurts.

All my poems have been about me. Kind of self-centered, huh? But I guess its an improvement, trying to find myself over trying to find myself in others. Over losing my mind over some person.

I'm still tired, though. I'm surprised I managed to write this much, for my hands feel too heavy to move much.

Maybe I'll curl up on the couch and pray the emptiness goes away and maybe life will stop allowing me to feel terrible things.

Just maybe.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
Zeerow, The Hero
Was a spectacular fool.
An unrepentant tool,
He run on philosophy
Based on misogyny,
Of raging homophobia
And collected memorabilia
From the Third *****.

He didn’t like to be questioned
Whenever it was mentioned
Because he knew something
The rest of us were missing.
He knew as he knew day and night
That he was one hundred percent right
And we were all certifiable imbeciles
That made him totally irascible.

His compassion undetectable
He thought himself respectable
Because he kept his bigotry quiet.
But few could actually buy it
Because his brow-lowering scowls
And not-so sotto voce growls
Gave him away rather quickly.

And sometimes things got sticky
When he found him surrounded
By those previously grounded
In his wordy, misguided opinions  
That we were all his minions
And he was some kind of lordling.
So how could we find him boring?

Yet we did. The best we could, we hid
Whenever he showed his face.
Especially in a public place.
The only thing that made it worse
Was that in the final verse
Some idiots elected him to office
So he got to irritate all of us.
And he did so officially,
Doing so quite efficiently.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2014
Our Verse into Psalm

"who massages our words
into a masterpiece,
our verse into psalm..."

sourced from a dialogue one year ago: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/548741/the-contriving-is-all-that-remains/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
humbling words,
just now discovered,
a reflection invitation,
commenced and ended,
an essay of simple facts

two topics theme,
revealing a man's evolution

a confession oft repeated,
he writes too much, (used to)
a readily apparent truth

but when the self-soul-peering
hits bottom,
forced to reflect
back and up, and around,
acknowledging self is a four letter word,
a poking from reviewing
a year ago gone prior scribbled response,
leads to a conclusion
to answer his puzzlement

easy acknowledges
he has prior peaked,
certified and certifiable,
his best words gone by,
bye and bye,
so how now antiquated,
this tiresome task
of endless interior internal examination,
once more
he asks of himself
the Psalmist's question (121:1)


"I lift my eyes up to the mountains:
From whence shall my help come?


from you,
y'all

my poems are now and will be
just stories told,
stories of you

of a lost wedding ring,
of a young woman's striving
to answer her most essential question,
reflections on being four years old,
on Eastern Seaboard geography
Thanksgiving Day air turbulence,
a young woman's sobriety celebrated,
her poetry, richer and health effused,
of lovers who cannot ever be,
of jobs lost and freedom gained,
physical pain that knows only
the optics of poetic relief to salve,
aching and unrequited awed and flawed love
that has no remedy defusing,
older schemers, puppy love rediscoverers,
of special young men
who see by their nature,
far better into
nature's window that answers the human soul,
children foreign born, here & passed,
whom I have never met, but,
who are poems
dearest in my breast,
as if, no,
as they are mine own...

and on and on

could travel and travail,
but the clickety clock says
bread to be earned,
wistfulness hour over,
all that's need is a conclusive,
one octave,
a summarizing single note,
a lady last rinsing of the soul

your stories are my psalms,
your heartache and triumphs
my masterpieces,
thy foibles are my filament,
your stories, my revelations

turned my eyes to the mountains,
seeing only my own mountains,
that engulf and surround,
hearing a single,
simple voice answering,
it is their mountains
that deserve written attention,
and therein and thereby
can you write humbly
and walk upright
^
^Psalm 37:37
Joel M Frye Aug 2014
to be the first person,
singular
to write of
one's experience,
the essence of
life's own blood,
the pulse of people
coursing through
the constricted byways
of coronary cities,
the exclusive cancer
of cliques
voracious, feeding
on those around them,
to observe
humanity
with a certifiable,
clinical detachment
without use
of the interminable,
insufferable
first person
singular.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
I was a certifiable ******
With the classic monkey
Riding squarely on my back
But I had no needle tracks.
I was almost undetectable
As my addiction was respectable.
No, I was not a rock musician.
I got my dope from my physician;
An almost never-ending source
Offered up with no remorse
I only had to mildly complain
That I was experiencing pain
And the cornucopia opened wide.
It held my immediate future inside.

I was off to party with friends
To the cabaret that never ends;
That free-wheeling waking dream
That made everything in life seem
As if nothing mattered that day
But that we should all stay and play.
And if something was getting tiring
It was time to retune the wiring
With a few more clever little pills
That cured all my temporary ills.

If I was exhausted or had an ache
It was time to take a little ****** break
Or, maybe not just that dosage alone.
Maybe better to take some Oxycodone.
Then, I can keep on night-club dancing
And backseat, hyper-speed romancing.
And later, needing sleep; a downer
Is good for an out-on-the-towner
Who has needed some rest for days
But the normal drugs and party ways
Wouldn’t quite let me get to sleep.
I felt that above all else, I had to keep
On doing what I was doing: having fun.
There was too much ******* to be done.

But every kind of candle has two ends.
There’s the one where the thing begins
And when I was trashing around a lot
Thinking of the other end was really not
The kind of thought-process I liked.
I wanted to do more of the kind that hiked
My awareness and my stamina to the max
And “injects my existence with what it lacks”.

While today I shudder to remember my words
At that time they were the best I’d heard
Since chocolate cake and butter cream icing.
None of that workaday stuff was to my liking.
It would be nearly twenty nearly deadly years
Before I found myself on a sidewalk in tears
Asking myself where things had gone wrong.
And while I am sure you are sick of this song
At the time it was a sad music to my ears.
Today, it’s the only music I want to hear.
Left Foot Poet Feb 2015
and you want to believe,
that the restlessness will disappear,
new days new ways to conceive
readily for purchase in the five and dime stores
that they did away with
in the years forgotten

shake your shirt sleeve hoping
you can rid the body of the naysayers,
the hangers-on eager to deceive,
leeches you once begged please-come-aboard

asking only that eyes only perceive
what your soul demands it needs,
pants legs flag waving for pocket change
falling out, roll under the bed, thus discovering,
new ideas for old hopes like
peace,
start the world over, you the creator,
signing onto a new lease on life

take best medicine doctors never seem to prescribe,
mirror-stare till you weep from rawness bare,
relief grief honesty, immolating exercises,
un-calculated but accurate, letting your
near dears watch so no explanations buried
for angry revelation years too later after

days and nights of no rest,  
a few hours here there
clumped hours but never conjoined,
and you swear off usage
of conjunctions

all spoken now just verbs and nouns
I was
I am
you laugh cause you know,
mirror nods in certifiable confirmation
this is not the best work you ever ecrived,
but when madness, laced with love regret,
what you will emit, you take it plain,
with lots of ice, the idea-words poured,
clinking each other as icy cubes misshapen,
write it no down, don't look no up,
no editing required, can't go back
and get those too late spoken words

alarm rings buzzes beeps all devices
slightly off time agreed, it's Saturday Sabbath,
thinking good god it's against the law
to think this way on a weekending day,
and you want to believe

in fresh starts but all looks old familiar
desperate inmate things of a discharging
what? and you don't care for any answer
that isn't intimate enough to say out loud
why! why? Why  
                             do you want to believe...
storm siren Jul 2016
So I'm technically certifiable,
And you're the type that I want to keep around.
I'm the kind of person
That holds onto letters and movie ticket stubs
And drawings with hearts on them.

I'm not great at letting go,
But I'm sure as you've noticed,
I'm fantastic
At getting attached.

And I'm the kind of girl
Who doesn't stick around very long,
Because losing people is unbearable,
But I'm also the kind of girl
That sticks to her word
No matter what.

And what if I made a promise,
To both you and myself,
That I'm going to be around
For as long as oxygen sifts through the breeze?
And what if I told you
That's the only promise I need?

I'm shivering
And wrapped up in your sweatshirt,
And you probably fell asleep
(Not like I blame you, you were tired)
But I can't seem to tell if I'm shivering out of being cold
(As per usual)
Or shivering because I'm so excited
To love you.

You promised me
You're not going anywhere,
And maybe I'm a little sentimental,
But listening to music that makes me think of you,
Helps me come to terms
With how much I trust in you and that promise.
Everything is telling me that this is right,
And safe,
And I don't normally place bets
Because I generally lose,
But I'll write it out now,
Because I bet we'll make it.

Give me something/anything to hold on to this moment/you.
Sentimentally mental or mentally sentimental?
Alex Clarke Feb 2015
I heard it said
once
that
the definition
of insanity
is to repeat
the same action
again
and
again
and expect
a different result.
Well,
I truly
am certifiable then,
dear love,
for I throw myself
against the steel door
of your apathy
again
and
again
until
my body
bruises and breaks,
and yet still
my hope
remains
unshattered
that one day
you might
leave it
unlocked
for me.
without asking for tangible receipts
but to pollinate greensward vis a vis
as pay forward recompense

many good samaritan instances
     came my way of late, yet
hive heal stymied, how
     unexpected gratuitous deeds didst whet,

a voluntary yen of mine
     to pay back or forward
     countless instances
     to balance out scale reciprocation

     doth weigh within mine conscious
     and/or subconscious
     giving back status unmet,
thus...this ambling, bumbling, fumbling,

     et cetera sensate **** Sapien able Juan
     Tim steady state Cane, tis ready and set
analogous to the tricks Seine (seen)
     by a rheas ease pond dint

     surveyed monkey smart pet
whom calculated thine net
total asper positive fortunate events this chap
     and or loved ones within mine family met

since years gone by to the present moment let
me experience minimal anxiety
     finds euphoric sensation within me (as if jet
     ting into stratosphere,

     and a counter force get
tin overpowering akin
     to a creditable conscientious debt
begging to be honored as a non boastful bet

among the better angels of thyself
     whom regulate acceptable, affordable, airing...
     agreeable, amenable, un arguable heartfelt
     good fella expressing deserved certifiable
     bona fied ardent

action demonstrating appreciation
     for innumerable, humbling deeds
done divinely deposing
     dada's depredatory, depredation, depression

     sans crucial life line feeds,
as genuine deep seated acknowledgement
     as proof emotional, financial,
     and spiritual bountiful personal necessity
     receiving such psychic receipts heeds!
Vikshipta Jul 2017
Words theyv been feeble
Waves much unstable
Wallowing on the spectrum
Of overruling phantasm:
And eye have become...
Nothing.
Nothing but an oddball-
| Certifiable |
tenebrous influence-
| Socially unacceptable |
Day by day getting more and more..
un..available.
And All these Stoicism
All those optimism
Now have been
Swamped away by the skepticism
While every destructive mechanism -
They
Swift..
along..
The throat level
( choking )
And It is all inescapable
For them Crus are Tethered 
Catatonic and unfeathered
Aaand 
I am
choking
on
Every hit
of ripples
That I swallow
For this pond is 
narrow
Way too shallow.
For me...
to
Sink.
Jonny Angel Jul 2014
Father was verbally dirt tough,
usually physically rough.
Mother is certifiable,
a legitimate ****.
Both hid
under the cloak
of the Pope's dogma.
This led to confusion...
it still does.
Obey the everlasting voices.
Those that beg you do,
They'll be here until you die,
The only ones that will never leave you,
Not even at night,
Like a soul mate - they'll be here when you cry.

Obey them young child,
You must learn to sacrifice your lust,
There's light and then there's darkness,
Although, here there's only you,
You wonder where you are.

Keep walking in the shadows,
Be careful you don't stumble and trip
In the land of murkiness.
They await around corners,
Unrevealed; out of sight for most,
But never out of your mind.

What's wrong with her?
She must be hysterical; psychotic; certifiable.
No one sees things the way she does,
No one sees them at all:
The shadows in the corners of the room,
The nails - or was that claws - against the windows.

They don't feel
The panic
Like she does.

They'll creep into your room at night,
You scream, trying to tell them goodbye,
Except they never leave,
You beg please
And they lock you in the cellar.

Months go by and it takes,
Half a year to notice,
You haven't been seen outside.
It takes them months for you to find yourself screaming at the walls,
****** clothes on the floor,
Because you want to get rid of yourself,
Before they **** you.
This is different from my usual type of themes, I hope it doesn't **** too badly.
Keith W Fletcher Sep 2017
There are those.... undeniable
Seemingly certifiable
Times ....
When disengaged gears ...secronize
And suddenly ....
Forward progress begins

Where static emulations
Stood frozen
Victims of their own
Disillusioned apprehension
Poised to leap into oblivion
Unchosen
Dictum setting the tone
Disavowing any or all ascension

Unsatisfied with acceptance
Of a painful intrusion
Though an invitation sent
Brought forth the conclusion
No ease forthwith the value
In hasty blind bluff dare
To not fail the saving echo
That's  emoting  absolution

Swirling like cotton candy
As it gathers around the core
Growing larger and grander
Born of sweetness in motion
Acceptance and adhesion
True poetry of love and more
Honest vision honored candor
Balanced faith and shared devotion

Fated to be elevated
At that very second
That very moment
When all hope fades
And if not missed
Always seen as a ghost
Dismissed as a mirage
When needed the most

So I'm glad I listen to the wind
Stepping aside , never in !
Jonny Angel Sep 2014
They taught me crazy things.
Like how to use
the palm of my hand
to ram the splinters
of your nose
up into your brain.
I became an expert
& I'm sane,
I think.
But what about the others?
The ones they released back
into the general population
who are certifiable?
What about them
killer teachers?
Seth Sacramento May 2019
she took

herself

away

too soon

at sixteen

could’ve given

a single try

to what she was

but it wasn’t her call

a tattoo of a finger

around her face

i must’ve looked for her

five times, maybe more

she said

she wanted everyone

to see

her *******

she didn’t care

she cared so little

that she didn’t care

to stay alive

ended always

with a trumpet

in the skies

the hats i wore

when i was sixteen

the backpacks

like rabbit ears

eating radibly

hating one another

if i had the chance

of something more

not what you all say

not a kiss

not a hug

but a slice

of pizza

on the curb

talking

staring at

the passing buses

entering

tunnels

of thoughts

and memories

running

for the color

we were missing

on those grey skies

and bumpy drives

oh

how you mocked them

all

because

just like me

they were all

better than you and I

because we’re

born poisoned

collect our feet

from step to step

you’ll find bruises

and no smiles

flashes, perhaps

flashes of withheld tears

i don’t care

we’re all azure

i still see

you running

through the puddles

avoiding

the missing step

you had another you

with you

someone to get you

more than i ever did

is it still

living

when the curbs

don’t see me

anymore?

how did you do it?

i’m scared

i’m a certifiable

coward

the desire

yes

i feel it

i’m kinda jealous

you found your way

you stopped believing

in your own skin

that we’re all ok

and that we’d all

be ok

i could’ve begged you

to stay

to hear my words

and find out

what’s missing

but i’m fooling myself

in beauty

did they

place it there

to entertain us

while we fall

and get shredded

and tossed

around?

we won’t be

no guns

all it takes

is a leap

were you even

thinking of me?

that this was gonna be

a message

from the other side

asking me to join

eyes closed

in the darkest sheds

of no suns

and moons

made of cotton ribbons

i see a dark

lonely door

awaiting for a hug

that’s you

right?

it has to be you

i thought

i had to figure out

the things

i wouldn’t be able

to do

without

you

and balance

my board

out

but i don’t

i just needed your push

because balance

hell

won’t find any

this world’s currency

is happiness

and each other

and i have too much

of none of the two

tend that hand

with you baggy

jeans jacket

i ponder

in miscommunication

**** us

and all of our feelings

we’ve failed ourselves

but we’ve failed

each other most than

anything

all the people

i’ve lost

were

mine to save

if we’ve built

these bridges

these crosses

these relationships

we must

love them

and survive

like poetry

left in the streets

in the arms of a singer

who’s listening to the world

but the world

isn’t listening to

help us, friends

i’m trying to move on

to forever

but this eternity

has failed

every single hit

missed all the punches

at this point

i’m lip syncing

to a song

that wasn’t written for me

awkward

brought on stage

with a band that doesn’t belong

they’re not playing my song

but it’s because

the world doesn’t want to

hear it

the world

will spin

and you’ll still

be gone

swing after swing

and while i believe

i’m truly here

it truly feels

like we’re not
S Smoothie Feb 2018
There's much to be said for those eyes refusing to see the obvious

It seems blindness is a choice or some chemical imbalance certifiable.

No matter how many times they tried making some meagre offering to the Gods of serendipity, they just could not move in the same circles of atmosphere.

He was of copper and she of diamonds but the rarer kind
and whilst his seasoned teal very much beautified him against his copper, his beauty did not match the incandescent spectrums emanating from her core.

Though she sparkled brighter as he passed her orbit happily catching the brilliance of the sun reflected by him;

The angle of trajectory was precarious. As they would each time, almost always slam into other passing bodies causing chaos! They were oblivious to the sentiments of the universe.

It was one of those things that everyone else could see,
but they very much couldn’t.

I’ve looked and I've tried,
but I've still, never seen a copper diamond ring.

I couldn't ever think why?
Robert Guerrero Jul 2021
Life's little rollercoaster
Full throttle
Short ride
Up
Down
Here we go
Can I ride another
Stuck on this loop
In circles I go
Somebody fix the tracks
Fired the maintenance crew
Can I bail out
It's been a suspenseful climb
Now dive down with me
No brakes
Stopping is overrated
Out of track
Do I keep going
Why not
Only way I'll learn to fly
When it's no longer
Up-down-left-right-around
Spam the buttons
Broken e-brake
Sad the last thing
I'll think about
Is why I never had a woman
Just to tell me
Riding an abandoned rollercoaster
Was a bad idea
Or restored it
Before I throttled it
Ha
Certifiable idiot

We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news....man dead after rollercoaster flew off tracks..more on this at 5

R.I.P.
Don't hold a memorial
Don't attend the funeral
Grab you a six pack
A pack of zigzags
Jar for the roach's
Bucket for the tears
Celebrate the moments
I was actually there
Grieve only for the notion
I became what I already was
A passing face
Dead before and after
I touched your tv heart
the world is certifiable
and if love is viable then let it grow
the commotion of emotion
tends to short circuit our devotion
and if promotions are no longer forthcoming
than non-competition agreements
probably won’t hold up in love’s court
you were bought and sold for naught
i caught you taking hold of those horses
so slow down baby and hold your course
slow motion dentistry will one day find a way
to deposit all the sedimentary mercury
lettuce leaves feel great left on your face
burn the vision underneath this skin
and with infinite precision we usher it in
you are gorgeous and re-purposed like a tortoise
for use with chopsticks and candles
i am landing now at the restaurant
extreme diners undo their lotus positions
and compete for heat and coolness
damp or dry, light or heavy
steady your eye and hand
fans cool us from the ceiling
as we move to the band
the dancing ballerinas
though i couldn’t see them
are very used to all this bending of our wills
Eventually vices will witness me crow king
cough'n affliction caw hearse courtesy
smok'n since me yay high,
hence appellation (mountain) wheezer
natural set of adult teeth (rotten to the core)  
easily plucked out courtesy tweezer,
this har nonestablishmentarian,
never prevaricator nor crowd pleaser,

whose barreled chest attests quantity
maximum grog, which equals capacity of keezer,
or analogous to quaffing
amount stout beer downed by yours truly
(rough estimation by dickens)
equivalent to hinted wealth of Ebenezer
Scrooge, who could hypothetically
purchase abundant amount of ale.

Above fabrication nonsense yay
figurative hook to grab attention my way
ain't one applicable factual word written,
cuz I take poetic license
with no intended off fence touché
harmless figurative foil
as usual trademark innocent word play
geezer who sports brown golden locks
employs good humor as keyway
to unlock mine mindscape entranceway.

After posting poem comb what may,
drink'n like vichyssoise floundering fiend,
I reluctantly brush aside
male pattern baldness without dismay,
cuz patrilineal genetic trait
shows no happy shiny pate
rather paternal ancestry
somewhat thick with strands
turning sixty plus shades of gray.

The following recounts true account
one hundred purse cent
actual bonafide certifiable event
attested to courtesy one germane gent
badinage represents laughable intent
as he deeply inhales cigarette brand Kent.

Though no physician,
this aging baby boomer
former long haired pencil necked geek
absolutely, intuitively, erroneously, and
unequivocally sensed hair loss (mine),
at first a speculative rumor
not simply rooted in my (ahem) head,
no matter a minimalist groomer

nevertheless, thinning follicles,
upon dawning realization, sans medical
sought relief thru good humor,
though within this balding cerebral noggin
became repulsive as if my scalp
pulled pate rendered as a tumor.

Thus an unexpectedly present surprise
when in private consultation in the guise
as out patient client (early afternoon
December 19th, 2018),
where I did fraternize
and kibitz with the medical assistant

(old enough to be my...sister),
aye did exercise
mild mannered mien mean, aye do patronize
before doctor Rudolf (dearly
reigned) Roth, a practicing
Dermatologist told me no lies

his instant karma knowledge - mainly his
thirty seven years expertise
sought to excise
a prominent non cancerous mole approximately
centered middle of back
a small patch of skin,

he needed to anesthetize
nonetheless, a reassuring persona,
yours truly did lionize
(not merely, cuz
he received a five star rating,
specialist under auspices

of Penn, Medicine)
in Radnor Pennsylvania),
his modest calm did neutralize
any uneasiness, as did his pronounced
humility earn kudos to idolize
such rarely present gentility, and

unwitting capacity did harmonize,
and maximize significance to me,
asper my thinning limp
hair logically rationalize
identified underactive thyroid gland

(hypothyroidism) tubby,
which didst legitimize
no hair brained rooted concern,
hence...less reason to catastrophize',
which for no reason I
wanted to mildly emphasize,
hence choice to apostrophize...
Travis Green Sep 2022
When I behold your heart and soul
You are the purest and most high-class magicalness
Immaculately radical and potent dopeness
Unconquerably ardent and exotic allure
Enthralling gaudy top dog
I fall in your pleasurable treasured majesty
Bursting with fiery magnetic wonder

Your magic touch makes my inner world erupt
Your certifiable striking star power rouses my entireness
Your taut, crash-hot, and yellow-***** frame
Your adventurous prodigious exquisiteness
Luscious dreamy chin, thick, top-shelf, and velvet beard
Savory sensational lips, flirtatious hazel eyes

You are my unutterably delightful and succulent soul food
Finger-lickin’ as buttery caramel sauce
My mind-blowing and tasty jamocha shake
My rich roasted hazelnut coffee
I crave your manfulness like a summery strawberry lemonade cake
So blazingly greatatious and swagnacious

Top-level finesse god, you are a stellar
And immersive domineering force
Your lips are an everlasting ecstatic paradise
Having considerable amounts of matchless and rapturous passion
Your electrifying spicy sight hypnotizes me
Makes me pine for our inner worlds to be intertwined
Confined to your time and space
sandra wyllie Aug 2019
merciful once
questionable twice
farcical thrice
certifiable beyond
Travis Green Feb 2022
When you come into my life with your supreme sauce
You make me feel so hot and soft inside
I’m lost in your seductive suppleness
Intensely brilliant flex that has me so besotted by your beauty
I feel so electrified when you shroud me in your powerfulness
With your solid and manly stance, you stroke me with awe
Your wonderfulness clings to my heart
Makes me hold my chest to feel your magic all over me

Your swaggalicous splashiness has me so high
You transport me to outer galaxies
Where I go into a trancelike state
Coupled to your seductive sight
I’m so far away from my time
I don’t think I could ever return to earth
Your love lives inside my house of flowery sweetness
The thought to touch your lips sets my soul aflame
To rub the luminous lines, drown into pristine dreams
Of exploring what lies beneath the surface

I feel your smooth, imperial mustache, and I’m rapt
I place my tongue on your elegant ears and kiss them delicately
I gaze into your heavenly iridescent eyes
Such swirling designs make me lose
My way in your radiant creation
Your masculineness emanates magicalness
Boy, you taste so delectable
In your nakedness, you are a certifiable and desirable king
You are the one, Daddy
A bright bad boss
A tough top-notch charmer
My peerless perfect paradise
Travis Green Jul 2023
He is such a sensual invincible prince
A dreamy lean finesse king
With the hottest certifiable swagger
That turns me on, makes me hot
On his top-notch rock-solid machoness

Every inch of him gets to me
The moistness of his soft pink lips
Make me long to kiss him
To lick him everywhere
Immerse myself in his perfectness

Cherish his earthiness, superbness, and masterfulness
Love him, touch him, crush on him
Listen to his deep, hypnotic voice
Make me sweat, make me melt
Make me so possessed by his prepossessingness

Ache for him in each and every way
Make me salivate to stay
In his grand enchanting man cave
Lay on his muscular thighs
Luxuriate in his nakedness

Stroke his thick chocolate pipe
Put it in my mouth
Feel how it arouses my entireness
Glide down my throat
**** his mad hot nuts

Give myself to him
Do everything I can for him
Never let go of his undefeatable slick pole
******* it over and over again
Bliss him out, make him moan loud

Make him gape at me
With lovestruck eyes
Move my hands up and down his robust abs
Smell his fragrant manliness
Escape into his radiant captivating wonderland
Of magically enrapturing wonder

He seizes and squeezes my bouncy ***** *******
Slide his tongue on my bright, appetizing peaks
Bite them, excite them, leave his teeth marks on them
**** him at a more rapid pace
Savor the unparalleled magic
Traveling through his fantastically dazzling masterpiece

I love how my mouth mingles
With his untouchable **** muscle
Lick it all over like thick sticky syrup
Slurp it, work it, devour his massive manly berries
As he rises to an electrifying ******
And spouts out his creamy man chowder
All over my exhilarated face
Our office
Certifiable
Careful

Here
what I say,
Can’t be
Proven
My way
I’ve lived
The results
So I know
It’s true

It’s what
happened
before
we knew

Women’s
monthly cycle
started slowly
alining
at the same
time
of every
month

The Syncretism of
Ten women
at work
Emotional
crabbiness
Times
Ten

Don’t be a ****
Do so at
your own risk!
Don’t pawn
off work

Listening
is a must

Somebody
actually
put up a sign

“Tread lightly
Office
Women
on their
Monthly cycle
Follow
on your
Moped”

It was the
strangest
Thing
I’ve ever
experienced
seen
Chocolate
Flowed,
Free

Women’s.
Bathroom,
Sanctuary
The Place
To Be

Inspired song

I Am Women
By Helen Reddy
BLT Webster’s Word of the Day
Syncretism 10-30-24
Refers to the combination of different forms of belief or practice coming together

Footnote
I was one of the 10 women. Emotions would be hot for seven days. We couldn’t figure out why until one by one the staff admitted they were on their monthly cycle. But how the dates seem to change within a year time everybody in the office had their monthly cycle that same week
Hormone correction? I don’t know
If I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t have believed it

— The End —