"cheapest" poems
*be ever gentle to thy words
treat them, your tools, well,
cleansing and protecting,
wrapping them in cloths of chamois and moleskin
that they may be well conditioned and
pour forth with a temperament clear and viscous,
reflecting their high honors and a noble lineage,
they are well-intentioned to exist far longer
than your meager temporal life,
upon this ever hasty, ever perpetual, orbit
give them all respect, their fair due,
they are treasure immeasurable,
for which you have been granted guardianship,
custody received from others to be gifted onwards,
yours, but for the duration
so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction
more truffle than trifle,
find them in the dark forest of your life,
use them sparingly, just for soaring,
take them from the roots of your trees,
shave them with a paring knife,
counts them in bites and measure them in grams,
even in grains,
for words are the seasoning of our lives,
agent provacateurs that can modify the moment,
bringing out to the fore
the flavor of the underlying
speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor them at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them*
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
I’m currently sitting in the coldest clinic,
Across from, probably,
the cheapest Mexican restaurant in Western Arizona.
The floors are sterile white,
And I giggle at the thought
of you
recognizing the irony
Of my emptiness.
The walls are also white and look slick with Lysol.
They radiate that dampness
that I swear that they smell
like loneliness,
We didn’t make love,
So much as **** in the dirt,
But the truth is
I’d rather wake up hot in the afternoon
on the dirt and the ground
(After you’ve already left)
Than wake up next to
The wrong person
in the wrong bed.
From earthy and raw
so quickly
to empty and white.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
I don’t know what to order so I order the cheapest thing on the menu
I don’t know if you have lotion, but if you do could I use some
you pulled something out of your pocket, that attracts the consumer I’m sure
it looked lip balm, it looked like blush, but it was lotion
you walked me to your place
made me a whisky and soda
you had mint, you put it in
before then I had read about that only in novels
I didn’t go home soon
I was thinking of polyamory, the next morning at noon
the next morning at noon
curly hair, brown skin, brown skin, curly hair
nose ring, curly hair, brown skin, nose ring, and curly hair
guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt in the morning
I’m mourning over my Catholic upbringing
and do I always have to tell the truth when I write something
I don’t wanna drink and drive like I don’t wanna drink and make love
make love with a woman
I don’t wanna drink and just fritter and **** away
**** off guilty conscience
you’re wrong socialized conscience
let me dip my feet, let me submerge
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
A child holds out a hand.
He has no tears to cry.
His stomach is a gastric band.
His future is to die.
He doesn't have food to eat.
He has nothing to drink.
To him this life is far from sweet.
His future is to sink.
Whilst all around that other place.
People cause disarray.
By getting started in the race.
That we call black Friday!
Whilst many have to pray for life.
That we treat as the norm.
We're fighting for the cheapest price.
And doing it in swarms.
How can the peoples of these places?
Hold their heads up high.
Does greed reflect from our faces?
Whilst so many other die!
We seems so motivated.
Over a child's toy.
It's ok to get aggrevated.
Over the things we buy.
It would be another story.
If it was a fight for life.
But it doesn't show much glory.
When it's a new coat for the wife.
We have a poor economy.
So can anyone be blamed!
We are all healthy, fed and free.
And we should all feel ashamed.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
How long will our bewildered heirs
marooned in possessions not theirs
puzzle at disposing of these three
cunning feignings of hard candy in glass-
the striped little pillowlike mock-sweets,
the flared end-twists as of transparent paper?
No clue will be attached, no trace
of the sunny day of their purchase,
at a glittering shop a few doors
up from Harry's Bar, a disappointing place
for all its testaments from Hemingway.
The Grand Canal was also aglitter
while the lesser canals lay in the shade
like snakes, flicking wet tongues
and gliding to green rendezvous.
The immaculate salesgirl, in her aloof
Italian succulence, sized us up,
a middle-aged American couple,
as unserious shoppers who,
still half jet-lagged, would cling to their lire
in the face of any enchanted vase
or ethereal wineglass that might shatter
in the luggage going home.
Yet we wanted something, something small ....
This? No ... How much is ten thousand? Dizzy,
at last we decided. She wrapped
the three glass candies, the cheapest
items in the shop, with a showy care
worthy of crown jewels-tissue,
tape, and tissue again sprang up
beneath her blood-red fingernails,
plus a jack-in-the-box-shaped paper bag
adorned with harlequin lozenges, sad
though she surely was, on her feet waiting
all day for a wild rich Arab, a compulsive Japanese.
Grazie, signor ... grazie, signora ... ciao.
Nor will our thing-weary heirs decipher
the little repair, the reattached triangle
of glass from the paper-imitating end-twist,
its mending a labor of love in the cellar,
by winter light, by the man of the house,
mixing transparent epoxy and rigging
a clever small clamp as if to keep
intact the time that we, alive,
had spent in the feathery bed
at the Europa e Regina.
4.5k
" I had toasted many in my life time.
Glasses of the most expensive wines, the
exclusive champagnes, and the cheapest of
beers.
Funny. Out of all, the beers were the most
enjoyable through my years.
I now ask myself why? It's because of the
laughter.
Sophistication was always troubling to me.
Don't get me wrong. To each is own i always
say.
Joke telling, and stories that seemed to be so
crazy, many wondered if they were true.
It was how the story was told, Some were hysterical
you had to hold you stomach with both hands
praying that it didn't split apart.
Others were so sad they brought tears to your eyes.
That's when i new i belonged, There is where i saw
love among friends.
The beer drinkers. Happy, Hardy. Without a trouble
in the world.
Where are they now?
A question that is not to be answered.
No more pat on the backs.
No more. " Hey don't forget tomorrow nights
card game at Tony's."
No more. "See ya latter's."
Just millions of us sitting at our computers, and
maybe drinking a beer.
To them i raise my mug with a toast.
"Happy to spend this time with you."
Michael....
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:32 AM UTC
and were the ears so pleased when:
the iciclic needles dug into our skins,
fleshy cloths that, sewn together,
made the mask to hide the whole.
we wore them like the cheapest of trophies,
the basest of glories and the simplest of stories.
we wore them to contrast to the whiteness of space,
the empty black white gray of life's living littleness
with the reddened hardwork of claymade shells.
they glowed with the rusty red of millions of faces
free to make their mark as they see best fit.
we had found these skins
forgotten on the floor,
and so we picked them up
with our biglittle hands
and opened the door
to newmade makings and
brand new beings.
it was empty within us--
the beings of old
and the yearnings of yore
had retreated far beneath the surface,
burrowed deep below mountains and meadows and
hills pushed up like sand in a box,
crushed against the sides of our enclosure.
it was silent within us--
the screech-making moon
sang in time to chest-beatings
and the barking of stray dogs;
the melody of moments lost in time.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
Grown Up "Cool Kids"
Nowadays cool kids are wearing business
Suits and ties all the boring time,
Nowadays cool kids are chewing tobacco
Drinking Budweiser AND wine,
Nowadays cool kids are driving break neck
Speed to get to everyday places,
Nowadays cool kids are going to war and
Using bombs to "save us,"
Nowadays cool kids are paying $6,000 for
The cheapest pair of braces,
So this is what being "cool" is all about?
And this is what makes America so proud?
Where I come from being cool is being wise,
Staying clean and sober, honest girls and guys,
Who don't have to hurt their health
Just to have a really good time.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
A fruit, tasting truly different, it was what I needed,
because in every bite, it satiated my desire, inexpressible
I climbed to the top branch of the fruit tree and
plucked the most sun drenched juicy one gleaming.
But it didn't put out the fire raging in my heart, though
the sweet fruit made me withdraw and be quiet
for a short while and then I went in search of another
when it dawned on me that it's a rare root, with
magical effects, that the nomads collect from hidden woods,
and it is the stuff used at the dead of night for alchemy
the chemical work that makes even the cheapest metal gold!
I went seeking a girl,who was described in revelations--
her bewitching beauty, haunting eyes and the songs she sung
promised many things to my heart and I couldn't sleep
after the time I met fleetingly, that seductive dame.
She was from a world different, her heart was unlike
any one else's I have known, yet I told her I still do search,
as it was a puzzle still, why beauty beacons me !
The black forest winds and waters, the flowers everywhere,
I needed to be alone with myself, when my heart stirred,
heard a little bird chirping that said" You make me calm,
where did you find the poem you just read aloud?"
Suddenly I have woken up from the dream I had fallen into,
eyes lit with beauty, munching a fruit, my favorite
book of poetry in hand,I went to my love, to read it aloud
to her and mull the beauty together, get rejuvenated.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
there was
a time in my life
when i didn't know
that
gin
existed.
at some point
someone put a
gin and tonic
in my hand,
and i said with delight,
"this is so refreshing!"
i bought the
cheapest gin
i could find
until i heard
snoop rapping
about tanqueray
and i thought to myself,
"what the hell is tanqueray?"
come to find out,
it is a delicious
gin, in a classy green
bottle with a red stamp.
how lovely!
things were just getting better!
i love limes, and
in no time,
a lime version of tanqueray,
"rangpur" arrived,
and i discovered
DIET LIME TONIC
life seriously couldn't get any better.
let's look at the mathematical equation, shall we?
gin=refreshing=limes=tanqueray=snoop=all around good times
marvelous. let's fast forward a decade.
gin=tanqueray=tears.
i honestly wish
life was not this
way and i
could go back
to the way
gin used to be.
and here is the
point i'm
trying to get to -
i'm so blah ...
so u n i n t e r e s t e d
so unfocused
that the thought
of going into a store
to get tonic was
too much for me to bear.
seriously.
so.
i'm drinking gin. with ice. and a little straw.
i have limes in my fridge,
and lime juice.
i looked at both of these items,
and could not summon
the strength
to move either
from the fridge to
the counter,
let alone my drink.
the next step on the road
to the river styx
is gin with no ice and a straw.
then just gin in a glass.
then just gin straight out of the ******* bottle.
then i would just eat the beautiful tanqueray glass bottle.
that seems to be the jist of things around
this place (by "this place" i mean earth) in general.
it's entropy. pick one of the definitions -
i'm pretty sure that poetically any of them apply.
personally, i think
heat death
sounds the best.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
Busy streets of China town,
busy folks with their heads down
busy people blowing cigarette smoke.
We'll sneak past the man
and run as fast as we can
to hop on the train because we're broke.
You're sat next to a crazy
and though this Sunday should be lazy,
we've taken on another task.
You shelter me away from the homeless,
but we're too ignorant to notice
the irony as we drink from a flask.
Too young to not be reckless,
but too old to be this senseless
when it comes to ignoring the label
that illustrates blackened lungs and hearts
Still, we ask strangers for darts
to get the cheapest high available.
They say the human world is a mess,
but we'll accept nothing less
than all the adventure life has to share.
Obsessed with our youth,
unsure of the truth
but too madly in love to care.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
Empathy is a disease.
It's a mirror that you always look into.
It is the situation that you are inherently bound to.
Empathy is asking for spare change on the corner of a street.
Empathy keeps you dedicated
Like a nun in it for the pearly gates.
It stamps a scar on your heart that can turn to hate.
Empathy is the cheapest coffin in the whole place.
Empathy encourages that charitable sorrow
That plagues the psyche with a bittersweet notion
Of unbearable understanding and sympathy.
Empathy is all alone, drinking wine and watching WWIII on the t. v.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
Deception feeds on ignorance in every lane,
Missiles are wrong symphonies in Ukraine.
The world won't rise with the cries of a thousand,
Corruption sneaks into the bones in Thailand.
Humans and bodies are wars' cheapest lance,
The riots take back stolen rights in France.
Starvation is stronger than the dignity of men,
Begging for food is integrity, in Yemen.
Moms paid, with their children, the fees.
Souls taken, are countless in greece.
There, living in an empty land is the plan,
Women, children and men, murdered, for power, in Sudan.
"Spending eternity in peace, is a ban",
Told the people, between Armenia and Azerbaijan.
Depravity spreading in man like Ameba,
A losing game of change played in Cuba.
Billions of harassment cases, you bet,
Are, will be reserved in god's eyes in Egypt.
Buried her father, brother and,
desire of existence, dear Haya,
She, and millions another, in fenced Libya.
In the name of religion, crimes covered, disgracefully,
Chastity thrown, in land of churches, the Vatican City.
Shattered wood under a phloem,
Are the confused inhabitants of oriental Jerusalem.
Too many sects, invading the minds, anon,
Conflicts will split the one entity of Lebanon.
Washing souls with lies of worship, is a key
Says the elected president of Turkey.
To be served, pure blood awaits in the line.
It rains glory and sacrifice upon Palestine.
To regain true reality, they had to wham,
Under snow, through fog, numbed rain, in Vietnam.
Lost a thousands of years worth of legacy,
Guns are the rulers in Damascus city.
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
AY, 'twas here, on this spot,
In that summer of yore,
Atalanta did not
Vote my presence a bore,
Nor reply to my tenderest talk "She had
heard all that nonsense before."
She'd the brooch I had bought
And the necklace and sash on,
And her heart, as I thought,
Was alive to my passion;
And she'd done up her hair in the style that
the Empress had brought into fashion.
I had been to the play
With my pearl of a Peri -
But, for all I could say,
She declared she was weary,
That "the place was so crowded and hot, and
she couldn't abide that Dundreary."
Then I thought "Lucky boy!
'Tis for YOU that she whimpers!"
And I noted with joy
Those sensational simpers:
And I said "This is scrumptious!" - a
phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.
And I vowed "'Twill be said
I'm a fortunate fellow,
When the breakfast is spread,
When the topers are mellow,
When the foam of the bride-cake is white,
and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow!"
O that languishing yawn!
O those eloquent eyes!
I was drunk with the dawn
Of a splendid surmise -
I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear,
by a tempest of sighs.
Then I whispered "I see
The sweet secret thou keepest.
And the yearning for ME
That thou wistfully weepest!
And the question is 'License or Banns?',
though undoubtedly Banns are the cheapest."
"Be my Hero," said I,
"And let ME be Leander!"
But I lost her reply -
Something ending with "gander" -
For the omnibus rattled so loud that no
mortal could quite understand her.
2.5k
Sleepless nights,
gallons of coffee,
regretful decisions at primitive parties
with the cheapest alcohol that can be found,
stress-filled hours at the library,
followed by binge-eating sessions
staring in a textbook that is
worth more than my soul,
just to take a test that will determine
what my life becomes.
Oh, but what a glamorous life
college students lead.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 8:35 PM UTC
cheapest, most insidious
effective form of oppression is internal.
It can be achieved when someone goes all the way inside
your soul
and throws out your self respect (self-love)
through repeated abusive tactics
both hidden and obvious
this is the foundation of all kinds of oppression.
this is what experience has taught me.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
People on the streets
Parents working second jobs
Trying to make ends meet
Savings depleting as prices rob
Mothers' seek cheapest cuts of meat
Politicians out to make wealthy richer
As if that were the answer to division
Between those that have not a pitcher
Or bowl large enough to catch false vision
Of milk and crumbs that never trickle down
From those who have and care not
For those whose voices have no sound
While criminals get three squares and a cot
r 3 Nov 13
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
I didn’t toss the ball
With Pop at six
I didn’t hunt or fish
At green sixteen
I didn’t learn
To fix my car
At twenty
I didn’t grow up
Knowing how to fight
I taught my father
How to shoot a basketball
I taught him
What a balk is
From a walk
I showed him
Greenwich Village
And to fight without fighting
And the chili that makes
The loudest ****
And he taught me whiskey
And the best tobacco
How to shave
My face
And not appear so young
He showed me Spain,
Bullfighting,
And Picasso,
And the cheapest food
In Mexico
We shared our pride
Our books
And being always stubborn
About the things
We cared
The most about
We shared a car
Sometimes
And all our music
And the way we hoard things
That we buy
We fought
And fiercely
Over his prejudice;
His hurting mom;
My attitude;
The way he always worshipped
Reagan
And whether Olga
Was an ugly name.
Sometimes I’d write things
And he wouldn’t get them
Sometimes I’d write things
That he didn’t like
And then he’d tell me
They were ok, but
On his face was anguish
At what I had done
My father taught me
How to be a real man
He showed me laughter,
How to be a friend;
He made me realize
How to mold my values
From the things I learned
And not the things
He said
My father told me
When I was a baby
To call him Aita
Because he was Basque
And to this day
That’s still his name
To me
My sisters
And my dad
Now, Aita’s sick
Sometimes
Sometimes he’s wrong
Sometimes he’s flawed
A child—
One more of Mom’s
But every day
We spend
Together
I am more proud
To be
His son.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 2:08 PM UTC
iron bars on windows
cheapest radiowave loud from loudspeakers
in smoking room
spreading
nonstop most tasteless songs
shouts, giggling and whispers and cries
mixed in the air
swallowing ugly pills under severe control of ugly sanitarian
pills from which you become weak, weary and zombies-like
to not commit suicide is not allowed
to keep glass bottles
no laptop allowed
10 minutes walk a day
and this only with attendance of
medical personal
stupid graffities on the walls of toilets and
smoking room
scarying
anything about punishment of ******* god
surely made not by patients
but belong to „estimated inventary“
the most horror procedure
is doctor visit at every morn
for so-called conversation
you, even not obsessed with suicide
would wish to hang yourself
from unability to cut doc' s throat
so spoke Antonin Artaud
who spent 9years in closed insane asylum in France
while Ezra Pound spent over 12 years in Washington D.C. Mental ward
me spent „only“ 6 months
but i pretty sure that this joy is worse than
be locked in jail
where you at least know what a ******* crime you supposed to commit
me unemployed dadaist was locked by catching by police spraying graffity
in Berlin, which called „FREE PIDGIN!“
reason enough to being diagnosed and
poisoned by legal drugs
we live indeed in society where freedom of speech rules
haha
it was modest trial to tell literally of the darkest terror: loony bin
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
A small single apartment
That is all I really need.
The result of low ambition
And a paucity of greed.
A kitchen for cooking
A comfy place to sleep
Just great for meditation for
Thoughts that don’t go deep.
It was close to my buddies
That good old gang of mine
I go there, they come here,
As long as there was wine.
I was serving jug wine
And vintage it was not.
I had to switch to *** when
My stomach started to rot.
I also served cheap beer,
The cheapest I could find.
Between the wine and beer
It’s lucky today I’m not blind.
And food was also frugal
Mostly chips and salsa hot.
Stoners aren’t that choosy.
Gourmands we were not.
Of course we all had our own
Personal marijuana stash.
Its quality depended on
The amount of available cash.
But one of us was a dealer
Or sometimes there were two.
They always brought a supply
To sell, that’s what they do.
We laughed and roared and
Someone always had a guitar
It is nineteen seventy two
And that’s how conditions are.
Some of us had jobs back then
But most were floating around.
It’s hard to be a stable soul
With no feet on the ground.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
I found you in the hum of a dying july
in the sleeping age of stinging summer days
the panic of daylight savings
and a fear of the dark.
you settle for me like you settle for the cheapest pair of socks when you're in a hurry.
everyone's in their own hurries.
all you needed was something to put your flesh into.
all I wanted was someone to spill my soul out to.
my own vat of whispers and lies was somehow overflowing.
you don't love me.
in every secret your green eyes whisper
every preserved thought
you tell me you don't love me.
behind every flutter of my eyelash
flick of my hair
tousle of my skirts that you never notice
or tear i withhold that you couldn't give a **** about
there is a girl quivering
scared of womanhood and scared of manhood.
assaulted in the dark of a summers midnight
both a rarity.
you don't ask. You don't care. You don't love me.
you lie.
i lie.
we all lie.
but none of us truly love.
that's what 17 years and 6 months with you has taught me.
we touch we kiss we sing we dance
my tongue on yours
your hands in mine
my thighs round you
your **** soft as a babies laugh.
because we are purely flesh.
i wouldn't tell you my secrets
if my life ******* depended on it.
so don't give me your ****
you dwell on her.
like a fly on ****
you love her.
but you settle for someone who doesn't love you.
this is ********
i once read that soul mates find each other because
soul mates seek shelter in the same places.
we found each other in the dark.
i do not seek shelter there.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Everyday they attach to us
They define our looks
Make our worth
Show our importance in this world
Yet what do they mean
They mean you follow
We follow whether we like it or not
The ***** on the street to the presidents men
Be it a fine wine or the cheapest ale
The label is always on show
Always there to prove your worth
Always there to show you follow
I don't like labels
My mind has a different kink
Yet everyday I follow just like you
Everyday I wallow in my shame
For being just a label
A label of sadness
A label for taxing
A label in age
And as my chuckle becomes a laughter
I feel that once again the label wins
As you read these lines
As you gather your thoughts
A new label is formed
For me
So it continues
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC