"champaign" poems
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
for the passionate midnight sexcapades.
Every Sunday
Drinking champaign,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into privet estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
My late night wicked pagan lover,
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
We were nympholepts in retrospect.
All clinquant, in gold light
But turned to heathens, in the night.
Dancing in rhythmic eruptions of fevered delight.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohh but of corse
-You had a Porsche.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
Last night
I tried to forget about my uptight blight.
My friends are timeless
We drive around in Porches
Drink champaign for days
Swim in caves
and talk of old sexcapads
2 cups of vodka--wanna stay the night?
Don't think about the over site.
Early morning
I took off my clothes
He is the neighborhood *****
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
I wonder how you feel to-day
As I have felt since, hand in hand,
We sat down on the grass, to stray
In spirit better through the land,
This morn of Rome and May?
For me, I touched a thought, I know,
Has tantalized me many times,
(Like turns of thread the spiders throw
Mocking across our path) for rhymes
To catch at and let go.
Help me to hold it! First it left
The yellow fennel, run to seed
There, branching from the brickwork’s cleft,
Some old tomb’s ruin: yonder ****
Took up the floating weft,
Where one small orange cup amassed
Five beetles,—blind and green they *****
Among the honey meal: and last,
Everywhere on the grassy slope
O traced it. Hold it fast!
The champaign with its endless fleece
Of feathery grasses everywhere!
Silence and passion, joy and peace,
An everlasting wash of air—
Rome’s ghost since her decease.
Such life here, through such lengths of hours,
Such miracles performed in play,
Such primal naked forms of flowers,
Such letting nature have her way
While heaven looks from its towers!
How say you? Let us, O my dove,
Let us be unashamed of soul,
As earth lies bare to heaven above!
How is it under our control
To love or not to love?
I would that you were all to me,
You that are just so much, no more.
Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free!
Where does the fault lie? What the core
O’ the wound, since wound must be?
I would I could adopt your will,
See with your eyes, and set my heart
Beating by yours, and drink my fill
At your soul’s springs,— your part my part
In life, for good and ill.
No. I yearn upward, touch you close,
Then stand away. I kiss your cheek,
Catch your soul’s warmth,— I pluck the rose
And love it more than tongue can speak—
Then the good minute goes.
Already how am I so far
Our of that minute? Must I go
Still like the thistle-ball, no bar,
Onward, whenever light winds blow,
Fixed by no friendly star?
Just when I seemed about to learn!
Where is the thread now? Off again!
The Old trick! Only I discern—
Infinite passion, and the pain
Of finite hearts that yearn.
1.9k
If I was a character in a romantic comedy, I would probably either be that random hot dog vendor on the side of the street or the best friend that sort of dies off after the first 6 minutes. The girl who has a pretty face but has absolutely zero relevance to the movie. Maybe a witty line here or there but that's it. My problems are so minimal. To others. My crushes are relentless, my sorrows are pathetic, and my all together appearance is lame. I'm the character that drinks white wine in champaign glasses at the bar but cries her self to sleep when the cameras aren't watching. I'm the character that ruins white wedding dresses with finger foods but wonders when it'll be her time to be the starring role in life. I'm the character who is passionately in the love with the bag boy but nobody cares enough to notice, not even him.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
She gets lost between piano notes and
Champaign bubbles
I swear her eyes are always just a little
Too far away
But she sings that it won’t matter
In a million years
So I forgive her
She still gets lost between piano keys
But forgets to play them these days,
I catch her staring at the notes
And there is something oozing from between knotted heart strings
she whispers that the chords are too tight
so I just nod
There are clinking glasses
And the quiet hum of dishwashers
But I don’t think her smile
Even flickers anymore
Someone told me
She still gets lost sometimes
Forgets which road takes her home
Probably because her Home was between the notes
And there was nothing
Even there to begin with.
Someone told me
she uses beer cans instead of wine glasses
and I didn’t even know she had started drinking
wine on the weekends.
I don’t think her cheekbones
Can stop screaming
But she still washes the dishes
With the bubbles all overflowing
In the cold metal of the sink
I guess there wasn’t much left to
celebrate
after the going away parties ended
She is pretty lost
Sometimes I catch her and beg
But there is no point to her madness anymore
I think she got lost between
Straight ideals
And
Bent chords
Forgotten words
And everlasting thoughts
I catch her in the street sometimes
Singing --
I secretly love the way she says the word music
Because she never speaks
These days
She only sighs
In the warbling mutter of someone
So far away
She is
Just the muse of a hundred musicians
With Champaign bubble eyes and
Track marked heart leading nowhere but hell
I think she begged them to stop
Serenading her sadness
But there’s addiction on her lips
I never kissed her fears away
Sometimes I think I’m sorry
but all the bubbles popped
and it was time
to go
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
*He left a part of his
heart under my
skin.
Stitched it up with a
silver coloured
thread.
Told me words of love
while the needle went
out and in.
Placed a kiss on my
rosy cheek and told
that he'll put my pain
to an end.
He wove love onto
my skin.
While his fingertips
were begging to
undress the champaign
lace I was wearing.
And the scar he left
was exactly like the
signature he leaves
on all the letters he
writes for me* ~
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
Chorus×4
(×2..You better be warrin a vest.)
Cuz when I come shootin I come aimin for your head and your chest.
(Verse 1)
Bullets cost money an I'm stingy wit my bread.
Never catch me sparayin prayin that I hit a shot...
I'm scopin
postin in the ally way.
Interuptin a ***** tryina catch a lift off a spliff
an take a second for him
but this 9 has thing for killing fake *** tricks. . . An I got a thing with head shots when I'm huntin a *****
(Chorus ×2)
I make triggers flinch with my intent.
Born and bread at full throttle,
living in the second. Survivin off the grams,
counting change that cowards scrounged up for back pay.
Roll up an take you and your homies bus money... better run quick yo momma says you late to take a ****
I try and stay cool headed, dealin wit selfish *******
Yall gotta understand that if I'm in yo whip ,handin you a zip... wether you my best homie or a the biggest punk ***** I'll look ya in the eyes an tell ya the same ****
( beat droops off into tempo snare)
(Hook)
I got whatever you want,
If ya need a real souljah ima killa for pay..
Movin weight is how I was raised.
I'ma bad *** till I'm in my grave.
Making paper, poppin Champaign.
Naked women help pass time by hopping in the long ride
This is my life- haters keep outta my sight.
24/7 I'm living 1 he'll if a life
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 6:27 AM UTC
a bond between one and another, sinking in my back and curling through the stomach, pouring out the front, pouring into champaign glasses, on and on and on, at a party with different kinds of hats. wishful thinkers, doing what they do best, making conversation that is pleasant, without a worry in the world, a stitch in the fabric of time
this group of people, have their white cloth and their pretty talk, think themselves the center of the universe, and why shouldn't they be? the words have meaning, and the theories discuss take on a myriad of expressions and history
and at the same time, in the same instance, there is poverty, what of that thing? clay pots and water that is cherished every day, brought in the daily bucket, brought in with heartbeat, heartbeat, heartbeat, drum drum, drum drum
A system systematically serenading itself with rhythms changing clockwork calculated nonsense
indifferent to itself, fluctuating frequently, standing still
quiet on top of an owls den, hooting its own demise at the wrong time
pass it on? keep it alive?
drum, drum drum, time, time time
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
A new year came born last night
Or an old one died
Worn and used, useless
Amidst champaign, påte and toasts.
This new day, new noon, new year
Black tie, fine clothes folded,
Noted a shirt stud lost
And must be replaced.
Before we part five stars
Rented the night
I would
Step outside for a cigarette -
No smoking inside, only cigars.
It's just the help who smoke
Paper wrapped scraps
Out back by the trash
And I wouldn't be welcome.
Lobby busy with guests
On their ways through
Doors held open to
Black labeled autos
Where the heeled reach hand
To men whose faces they avoid
Exchanging obligatory graft
Glad their craft returned.
January air stabs
Its frigid blade slicing
Nostrils, lungs in pain, cheek burns
Frost earns my mustache.
Finally past the bustle
Some steps to the side
Where my fix can be lit
"Hey, brother"
A voice, a wretch
Cold taken its toll, nasal exudate
Frozen in a lake on lip
He hopped from foot to foot
And I smelled him, vagabond
An assault to air already painful
Oh, to walk on, feign deafness!
But needy eyes held me
Refusing the cigarette offered
He just wanted to say
"Happy new year"
Know that he existed.
Brown eyes cried
That someone finally stopped
To listen.
Oct 10, 2009
Oct 10, 2009 at 7:34 PM UTC
*Your voice sounds like
church bells and christmas
jingles. Your touch makes
me tingle. Your mustache
reminds me of the man found
on a box of Pringles. Your
sweet and sour and prettier
than the NY twin towers.
Sitting next to you in the car
never made me feel the boredom
of a rush hour. Tell me a secret
and breathe poetry down my
neck. We can go home and take
the next step. Champaign and
blood red wine , oh darling doesn't
that sound just devine. With dim flickering
candle lights , white silk bed sheets and
tangled limbs and feet. I think we'll be just
fine* ~
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
The old ones seem haunted
even with ole Presidents
making their whistle-stop
campaigns.
Blacks on their exodus from the south,
streaming into them, one can visualize
with their souls and
spirits accompanying them as they seek
a decent life.
Imagine the shoeshine stands with their shoeshine “boys” and black attendants in the restrooms
which was probably as far as some of
them got.
The newsstands with their variety of
newspapers and sundries alerted
the lonely travelers to Wall Street
and elsewhere, businessmen
who would stream in with a sophistication
the common traveler feared.
The smells of leather baggage,
the cleanser that porters used
to keep the coaches clean wafted in.
The smell of cigars and wrinkles
of old men’s skin let us know
that the porters would be appearing
with a bevy of special guests.
History speaks in these stations
as well as some bus stations
around the country with their
dangerous drifters who would serial ****
and the ambitious young talents off
to the big city to seek success who we would
later never hear of.
The local Union Station in Champaign has been
turned into businesses, but I can
just see Abe Lincoln arriving
speaking from the caboose and making
his way to a horse and buggy
outside to go to the local county courthouse.
Long live ghost-filled train stations
everywhere, and don’t let us forget
the homeless and destitute street people
who need to use their restrooms and
sit down in the waiting area seats
to take a needed load off.
They’re that important in the general
pictures of things, at least to me.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 12:51 PM UTC
Get up in the night,
In my mind to find the light
Holding the white candle,
But Darkness was getting hard to fight
Lost in the narrow woods,
No space between the tree to peek outside,
There goes the stars shinning bright
moon being the cheater snatching all the lime light,
In my heart I feel a tide
Of emotions that wants me to hide,
There lies my injured heart
With a arrow along the middle side,
Something blinds my vision
Like it doesn't want me to see ,
The picture of the site that had fleed
All my sense comes to stand still,
When their happy memories comes to live
With champaign in one,
And the knife in other
That they used to stab me,
Multiple times without a hustle
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
I saw your smile and
I began to rise like newborn bubbles
in a freshly opened champaign bottle,
like the kind you see with a couple
intertwined in white lace and a black tie
walking out of a church.
I saw your smile and
I wanted to play those blinding white piano keys
attached to your gums that play
the soundtrack to my summer
harmonizing with the thoughts
playing hide and seek in our heads
as we shared our first kiss.
I saw your smile and
I forgot how to breathe like
when you kidnapped my breath
that was suppose to fill the silence
after we kissed but our stare
was powerful enough to break open
the gates of heaven before
St. peter could even inspect our adolescent hands.
I saw your smile and
I was finally okay with you
whispering her name after your murderous words
"I love you" because I knew
you were now happy since me.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
I was never one to fantasize about my wedding day or obssess about the identity and whereabouts of my groom to be . I just viewed marriage as pleasant expectation.
Something wonderful that would come in its due time
But now I've come to my sences. Untie the boquet, tell the flower girl to ignite her roses, tell the ring bearer not to take caution, pour the champaign down the drain and tear down the wedding cake.
The groom isn't going to show .
And I don't blame him
What awaited him was an asylum in a white dress .
Each step would have brought him closer to being chained to a despondant soul.
I want to love someone,someone that is all mine . Love them with everything in me and wake up each day with my whole would resting on the pillow next to me. But it's not fair to try to love someone when you don't love yourself. I can't charge someone with the responsibility of holding me together. I won't ever be that selfish. So groom to be stay where you are if you see me coming run for the hills .
I'll silence the wedding bells and send the band home. Don't waste a perfectly good tux on me .
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 8:42 AM UTC
here is another one
mostly for fun
like a little cap gun, son
I
Hop on one foot
Like a muthafukkin bunny
I’m lucky, its sunny
But allergies got my nose all runny
The drum beat
Keeps my feet sweet
Light and neat
Homemade Halloween treat
Back to the street
See I’m rollin
In nothing stolen
Knee swollen
**** takes it’s toll , man
But I still jam
Like I am on a muthafukkin roll
I stroll
Into any place of business
Like I witnessed
Jehovah’s ******
Simply put, I’m the best
****** rapper in the
Pacific northwest
But that’s just a guess
I don’t get out a bunch –
Well I
Seem to play this game
Where I try to pick the brains
Of these criminally insane
Muthafukkas on my job plane
Don’t drink Champaign
But if I do its out a mason jar
Check out my appendix scar
I lied, still got mine
It’s like a shinning star
Brown dwarf, cant see it from afar
But it will destroy the par
Leave golfers in their little cart
At the speedie mart
Riding on the BART
Did you just ****
I get silly still
Its these badass pills
Cause all kinds of thrills
Homeboy, can we just chill? –
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
I say it's tarnished because it's been through the ugliness of the sixties, what with the divisiveness the Vietnam War caused.
I have an acquaintance who has a t-shirt that says "these colors don't bleed" and then shows the American flag.
I say they're bleeding now because of the unnecessary blood shed by our boys in Vietnam mixing perhaps with the red blood of America as symbolized by the red stripes on the flag. All because there were these chicken-shit draft dodgers, at least in my own opinion, who with their squawking about serving seemed to egg the war on and on and the unnecessary bloodshed it caused.
I do respect the symbolic nature of the beauty of the American flag and can recall when I was still rather patriotic suggesting to my father, a retired West Point combat army colonel, to get a flag pole in our front yard at one of the houses we lived in the Champaign-Urbana area and fly the flag every day long before it was done even in other parts of the country.
I could be wrong there. Anyway there was an article in the local paper about it that near as I can remember implied that or else it was at least a first for Champaign-Urbana according to what they said.
I think I'm getting patriotic enough again to definitely want the flag to not be burned, etc.
Yeah, me and the flag these days
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
Tonights stars look like bubbles
In a glass of champaign,
Like the world got drunk
On all the dreams we didn't chase
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC
I came all this way to make you smile,
But I know I don't have to try so hard,
anyway's I had you all along.
I know I'm your favorite guy and its been that way for awhile.
I can tell by the look in your eyes
That your feelings are never gonna change for me
So Taste the Champaign,
My pretty pineapple lover
No desire to despitse a created design
come new lover and seek out what you want.
avenue,
ballyhoo,
And Sun in the sky
I remember all these rhymes on the line
You take everything high
Now I'm just speechless
Lost and cascade
To our sweetish kiss's and heavy vibrations
Beyond the dark forest.
where back to how it all stared
Staring in your eyes,
Staring at the sky,
when fireworks are flying Cross the ocean
Take a message cause I'm turning back the pages.
Return to your true happiness
where back to how to all stared in the first place.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
Lay with me
In this moment
The shadow tantalizing
Love I never believed in
The sky our divine blanket
downy earth the only bed we need
A green sea I'm begging to drown in
And dream of the knowledge
That flows between us,
An ethereal link of pure-spun moonlight
Counting clouds and wishes
Like we hold the key to the universe
Behind tenuously pouting lips
Golden the only color I see
Golden summer
Golden smile
Golden you
The joy of you giggles up like champaign,
Dancing the giddy line of innocence and passion
Certain in the teenage naivety
Of times and truths and us
Of a summer fleeting steps to more
Hold me with the strength to fight the world of sorrow
Preserve the silken petals opening
Slowly to breath your sunlight and live
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC
Raq'y:
Tonight we are victorious,
Champaign poring over us,
Let's be alone together,
We can stay young forever,
Hannah R:
When I was a young boy,
My father took me into the city,
To be young volcanoes,
Raq'y:
When I was in 3rd grade, I thought that I was gay,
Cause I could draw, my uncle was, and I kept my room straight,
Hannah R:
I don't believe that love's for me
So won't you come around and prove me wrong
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
If it is a race, then the pace of one set of clouds out does the ones that float above lazily. Smokey dragons cut across Odin’s one good godly eye. The night pursues its cold cool wind muse,
and I cannot lose, because I use this muse so well. I walk the building corner to brick corner unwilling to enter the unyielding nightmare hallways. I do not wish to walk in the white hollow echo chambers, alone and uninspired while the night spirals in lunar delight. I postpone it as long as I can, walking the yellow concrete corners like they are tight high wire. I swerve and struggle to maintain my perfect position, for fear of falling into the black top lava pit. The inside world waits for me like a ravenous beast. Please oh please do not force me to leave the light breeze that brushes my skin gently. Glass and metal doors see me swallowed whole. I did not want to go but now I know this white washed world will be my graveyard fantasy. The red buds on the tree beckon me, but I cannot go back out. The musical clank of metal clips that hang the flags summons me beyond the security doors with their dangerous whipping movements, but I am not allow to explore such freedom. The strangers of varying degrees, shapes, weights, skin tints, hair, and teeth beckons me to question their history. I cannot go out there to the fantastic. No that is a lie. I could if I tried, but I chose to hide in a secure hourly wage paid life. I could leave and let my wanderlust take me where it will. I could go back to Pleasantville, Champaign, Williamsville, Pontiac, Mt. Vernon, and Danville, then go see places I have never been. I could give in to the seductive siren call of landscapes unseen, sounds unheard, and strangers not yet met. Instead I sign my time sheet, walk and repeat, securing nothing. I drive home tired and come back and repeat that as well. I accept the mundane. It is a part of the price I pay for a slice of peace.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 11:16 PM UTC
I’ve tried playin’ things my way,
Until things came to my utter dismay.
I never thought I’d let you down,
Here, I’ll give you back your crown.
What I miss the most are the late night conversations
You’ll always be my ship, will I be your capitan?
I never wanted this fuss
Just wanted my conceptual “us”.
Watchin’ you walk out my door,
I’ve never wanted anything more.
Can I just wake up from this dream,
It’s like drowning in a tear stream.
Though, your eyes were my l o t u s,
Will there be a conceptual “us”?
If I send you red roses, a dime a dozen,
Will you think they’re from someone different?
I thought I poured my heart out to you,
Should I come back? Will things be new?
Do you miss my arms wrapped around you tight?
Remember when we drank Champaign alone at night?
I see you coming again,
I’ve been thinking to much,
Since I’ve been laying in bed.
You know the reason why.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
staying here
let me
upstanding to
trust my
asterisk that
mark my
note with
tarter that
laughter brings
my heart
that champaign
pours from
art tonight
that exercise
my right
to express
delisted delight
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 11:57 PM UTC