"checking" poems
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form
Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
(turning pages
of yesterday's news)
animating, culturing, bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)
His cronies
looked on
(with a twisted conviction)
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
*did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?*
The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold
Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough),
patronized the boys
and called it a night
( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
(something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot)
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
(at 8 bucks per)
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear
Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
STATE SHUT DOWN BY IDIOCY
"This is correspondent, uh, burp...
wait, winds r, yeah, okay go
back on live camera..."
pretend the wind
is
blowing you back
"This is the most major storm in recorded history of this network!"
"My God,
I could die in this sh..stuff."
"Five star hotel what the ****
"Okay, okay, live we are,
look here, pan closer, these leafs on this Raleigh plant here,
see how violently they are moving?"
LEAVES ARE FALLING!
"That is the fear one feels knowing that a category two,
at any moment, could become a category five."
"This Dave Mowers live from Hawaii,
checking in before I possibly die.
Mom I love you, Dad, well,
look how brave I am!"
"Is that an Asian girl?"
"What an a..cute *** that,
cut to...
to the violent leaves again you ****
"I'll fire you cameraman!"
*Four large oak trees have fallen.
HAWAII HAS ENORMOUS SURF!.
Four large oak trees have fallen.**
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
while september cicadas
were singing my neighbors to sleep
i was up walking holes in my shoes
over love once lost
so many poems ago
that the only thing i remember
about the house at 38th & bluestone
is that it reeked of alcohol and is
as i'm sure of it
still saturated in perfume
and abandoned laughter
but that's not the point
give me a minute
what i'm trying to say
is i always thought god
enjoyed watching things leave me
it makes me wonder
what was on his mind
that night in september
when i stooped to cough
or tie my shoelaces
i no longer remember why
but i recall their trajectory
the way gravity cradled my hands
and brought them crashing back to earth like a 747
they landed inches away
from a scrap of crumpled loose leaf
folded in half like the smiles
of my relatives on a holiday truce
you see, lately i've been looking for scars in the newspaper
i find myself checking the obituary
for my former selves since the day i found your suicide letter
maybe that's why i can never explain my obsession with history
maybe archeology is just a funeral
in reverse
maybe hell is just rewinding home movies
or watching confetti
turn back into photographs
i never told anyone
the reason the doors to the gun cabinet in my family's house are locked not because they are afraid
i will take my life
but because sometimes
i sing them birthday songs
on the day you died
it makes me think
of how rooms only echo
when they are empty
*you know
i never echoed until you died*
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
Why am I so obsessed
With checking my notifications
If no one texts me
It feels like suffocation
That little red dot
Next to my application
It ***** me off
When it won’t work down at the station
I've got a mate who's into spontaneous flirtation
He met a bird on this app
I think she's Croatian
They went on two dates
And then went on vacation
Meanwhile I'm sat at home
Watching babe station
I fell in love once
Then realised it was infatuation
She said I had no drive
But she had no imagination
When we go out
Theres no conversation
Even Siri
Gives me ******* quotations
My new phone
Is the new sensation
Checking Facebook
My only temptation
I check my phone
Just to know my location
**** it
I’ve had it...
With this nation
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 6:28 AM UTC
I am grateful I can feel thankful for life instead
of just hating on it like I used to.
I am grateful for choosing real connections instead
of checking out and isolating into myself.
I am grateful I can be a son to my parents, a husband to my wife,
a father to my daughter, and a friend to my friends instead of
drinking myself to death a day at a time.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
My anxiety is not me.
My anxiety is shaking hands.
My anxiety is imaginative.
My anxiety is sleepless nights.
My anxiety is never satisfied.
My anxiety sits on my shoulder.
My anxiety keeps me from making important phone calls.
My anxiety forces me to want to isolate myself.
My anxiety makes me cry over nothing.
My anxiety makes me cry over everything.
My anxiety tells me a C may as well be an F.
But my anxiety forces me to avoid important tasks I have to deal with. Everything scares me.
What am I so scared of?
My anxiety wakes me up vomiting.
My anxiety forces me to pull away from the people I so badly want to fall into.
My anxiety keeps me from living.
My anxiety makes me at least two to twenty minutes late everywhere because I don’t believe I am ever prepared,
so I have to retrace my every other step,
constantly checking and re checking.
Constantly doubting.
My anxiety is a thin stream of fear trickling through my mind.
My anxiety is a menace, a monster, a fish with teeth,
black yarn, lawn chairs sinking in the sand.
My anxiety rules me.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
•
you
secretly
wishing, for
your writes to be
noticed•simple sign
that they have not been
missed•with every view
and every like•your popu-
larity does spike•somewhat
places your art on the poetry
map•between major players,
you close the gap•constantly
checking to see who's been
reading•you're always deli-
ghted to see the *'yellow
lightning'*•a wish...
for those who
are writ-
ing
•
secretly hope not only for your words to be
reaching far and wide, but also... trending•
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Time apart makes all things
New - a nervousness
An excitement
Needy and naive
The memory of your touch
Fades - but not the intensity
Of my love
Checking like clockwork
The departures and arrivals
Heart thumping
My poor vision
A true handicap
Scanning the masses
For the most familiar face
In the world
Of whom I know
The span between my thumb and index
Is the same as your chin to earlobe
And my finger could trace the shape of your lips
From memory alone.
When my eyes
Settle upon your face
My hard heart beat
Hits slow motion
And stops -
Everything runs through my mind
But I think nothing at all
Reach out.
Kiss.
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 6:25 PM UTC
Broke
Unable to finalize any purchase
Checking
For change in the last places that one searches
Insufficient
To the point I'm unable to ward off the throes of destitution
Bankrupted
By devaluing those who have not made restitution
Insolvent
To the point of having to fight off the urge to curse
Disallowed by the prose that places value and give credit....to verse
Denied
Any credit accrued....maybe even unearned
Reevaluation
With no accounting for the time you
SPENT
Learning what you have learned
Depreciation or Appreciation
Cannot be quantified by the lack of someone.saying thanks
Interest will eventually be of value
Once accrued... but for now I must accept
That I'm simply overdrawn at my memory banks
Investment in my own value
Will allow me growth
In my own ...
......personal
Checking account
Helping me in balancing the books
Keeping me payed up and happy
BY
Always giving others their true valuation
So that ego doesnt become a currency
That is subject to... such a devastating inflation
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
Home bound after work
near 12:30 am
just a few minutes from checking my email
then retiring
as us old folks like to call it
from the North side of route 7
at a slight angle
there and gone in half a second
was the biggest meteor I've ever seen
if that's what it was
so big that I slowed and listened for a boom
but nothing came
I have no idea how far it went before touching down
but this isn't about the meteor
this is about the fact that when I got home
and thought about who I would tell...
there was no one that came to mind
I've seen so much crazy **** in my life
that the stories have grown old
even the new ones
I breathed life into a dead woman one morning
then faced the fact that I couldn't save another
hit by a truck on my way home
just after midnight
on the day before the great Russian meteor
I saw 2 objects in the sky on fire
and not moving...
in broad daylight
I've been touched and spoken to
by spirits or ghosts or phantoms
take your pick
I saw 3000 people sacrificed in the name of what?
and as a child I witnessed a president murdered by those supposed to follow him
I've grown to see the young know nothing of that last President who actually had a vision and a spine
and when I quietly leave this life
there will be little to note...
a brief glance
of my obituary
by a few sad souls
I often think of a quote I heard as a young man
by a comedian; George Gobel
who was on the 'Tonight Show'
Dean Martin and Bob Hope were also on that show
and unknown to George, Dean was flipping his cigarette ashes
in George's drink as he was telling his humorous stories
this caused the laughs to come out of sequence...and finally a confused George said; 'Did you ever feel like the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?'
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
summer in the park
kids hopscotching on pavement
dad checking email
the oldest known song
carved on a lover's tombstone
- “pretty much YOLO”
digital tombstone
her face no longer ages
she is immortal
relaxed at the beach
at home - panicking mother
phone dwells in the lake
so long out of touch
childhood friends reunited
- thank god for Tinder!
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
I'm making a list
I'm checking it twice
I know you've been naughty
But have you been nice?
They tell me you've been bad
But does that really mean "good"
It's just an opinion
You wouldn't change, even if you could
You are on my list
Which one, I'm not sure
I need to see your naughty some more
Bring it on!
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 5:04 AM UTC
They are checking their list and checking it twice
Making a note whose leaning left or right
The CIA is coming to town.
They know when your cheating on your taxes
Checking Facebook they know when your awake
When your smoking Humboldt ****
Or chatting online with the Russians
So knock off for goodness sake
With hidden accounts offshore
Track and keep score
They know exactly who you are voting for
The CIA is coming to town.
OOOOOOOOOO you better watch out
You better not shout
You better be good
Check under the hood ( boooom)
The CIA is coming to tooooooooooooown
Dont panic........ its Political Satire folks
@ copyright Tammy M Darby Sept. 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
I tried
to throw it out
along with the bubbles,
the yellow duck,
and the knickers the dog crudely
chewed
pushed it amongst silled plants,
now it stands,
between Thick Cut Marmalade
and Chlorine Free Baking Cups
a token, painted green with white
Maori dots, symbolizing
the small dreamings
of a tortoise
and since this house
is my body, see
how I have placed you
in the kitchen
and I cannot get beyond,
the simple meaning,
of daily needing
love like water, air
and how I don't seek
to see it fully
yet often find myself
checking if its there.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 12:14 PM UTC
Hometown girls
are real with you.
If they don't like you,
they'll even make their *****
look ugly;
pulling them in all the way
to the tops of their thighs
through their buttholes
and you can smell the stench
in your brain.
But when they let you in,
when they let you sit on their ears,
it's like warp-drive.
They smoke virginia slims,
because that's what their mom's smoke,
and the bags under their eyes
are filled with nicotine,
but they're pretty bags,
purses of flesh
full with the kinetic beauty of coal.
Hometown girls are mostly black,
mostly white,
fifty-fity,
but nobody's checking
and when they whisper something nice in your ear
it's colored with a microbrew
or a wheel of Jim Beam.
Sometimes they'll take you by the wrist
into the bathrooms;
sometimes they'll take your drink
when you're not looking
and smile when you catch them
with it on their lips.
But that smile is good even,
on par with a supernova
in its ability to crush
and make beautiful.
But most of the time,
they stand around
outside Casbah
and Motorco
--if they're bougie
it'll be West End--
in the middle of the night
under the porch of the sky
looking out with amber
slitted eyes
like cats,
their legs twitching thoughtfully
as they wait for cabs
and pick at the night.
Hometown girls
are sexy/beautiful
because they'll watch your every move
from the gallery
out of empathy,
knowing they've been that ***** before,
knowing they've been that lonely,
knowing they just want to get drunk
and want to be around randoms
that aren't so random.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
V-is for vowing to never drink *****
While on our voluntary vacation.
We have voiced our verification
In a high voltage volcano
While playing volleyball
And checking our voicemail.
While in this void,
A terrifyingly vivid *****
Who was a model for vogue
In which she wore a V-neck dress,
And ate all her vitamins
Vocabulized with much volume,
Her vow
To always,
Drink *****
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 10:16 AM UTC
Today I carried on a brief conversation
With a friendly goodwill employee as I was checking out
She handed me my change and as I hurried to stuff it in my wallet
Before the people behind me became annoyed
She told me to have a nice day
A customary phrase I thought nothing of
Fed to almost every employee by his or her boss
I flippantly said "You too"
And threw in a friendly smile
As I turned my back to leave I heard her reply
"All we can do is try, sweetie,
All we can do is try."
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Morning sunlight lighting the dark hardwood floors
Pages being turned and voices no louder than a whisper
People shuffling in and out the doors
The rain coming in at last
Shifting the clouds
Now to overcast
Watching silently just barely a glance
Observing life as it is
Hoping for the chance
To feel something more
Become something better
Moods always changing
According to the weather
I sip the burn of this morning roast
Nibble my eggs
Crunch on my toast
People in the park sway on the swings
Probably thinking
Of such trivial things
Man on the corner of the street
Checking the time
He's got somewhere to be
Getting back to the daily grind
A tearful woman sitting on the bench
Crying her heart out
From the guy who called her a *****
Life appears all around us
We choose what to ignore
The sick, the healthy
The rich, the poor.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
It's been 10 days,23 hours, 59 minutes, 1 second
Since you last called.
Am tired of staring at the phone
hoping you're thinking of me
Tired of checking your last messages
Saying you love me
That it will be different this time
I try to restrain myself
So that I don't text you
Begging you to call me
To love me.
Questions rise like a smoke cloud
does he even love me?
Am losing myself in agony
I need you
To talk to me
To see me
To want to.
I miss having you here
To show me you care
Right now I don't even know
if I was right to let you in.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
It's Wednesday, April 2, 1997, at 12:00 PM
I took a Greyhound bus to Des Moines, Iowa
It was a six-hour profanity demon hellride
At 6:00 PM, the Greyhound bus arrived at the Des Moines bus station
Two of my music fans picked me up and drove me to Fort Dodge, Iowa
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
At 2:00 PM on Friday, April 4, 1997, I went on a radio show joyride
I whipped out my Technics KN3000 keyboard and sung four rock songs on 88.1 KICB
At 6:30 PM, I rode with my friends to Knights of Columbus for sound checking
At 9:30 PM, I got up on stage and sung twenty rock songs in front of 200 rock fans
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
At 11:20 AM on Saturday, April 5, 1997, I caught the Greyhound bus to Chicago, Illinois
The Greyhound bus left Des Moines, Iowa at 11:30 AM
It was an eight-hour profanity demon hellride without music
At 7:30 PM, the Greyhound bus arrived at the Chicago bus station
I then got off the intercity bus and yelled like a stupid fool
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Hell Greyhound bus ride
Kinkos, it's the new way to office
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
crazy idea, silly notion,
then again,
come back, circle around,
why not, you ask yourself
now prior to posting hereon,
every word with extra care reviewed
sharing, checking in
with my beloveds,
here, those gone/disappeared
telling myself
telling anyone,
talking to you
letting you know
my grace, your grace,
one and the same,
my face, your face,
my child, my son
know you're
checking in,
checking out,
the comings,
the goings,
knowing full and well,
I see you,
my face, your face
everywhere and everyday
our conversation never ending,
look for me here,
at the intersection
of memory and what's up,
you see my messages,
responding in a thousand
different ways,
our dialogue unending,
formally organized
Face to Facebook,
your face, my Facebook
my child, my son
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC
I lost a friend last night
because my poems are too dark.
She said they scare her,
and make her cry.
She said she can feel me slipping
with each verse,
and that she'd enjoy them
if they were written by a stranger
she never loved.
She said she feels her heart going out to me
but she had to pull it back
because she needs to keep it
for herself,
so she can see though her own issues.
No one ever stays
because once they see me naked
of my walls
they stare into my sheltered world
and see things that would make even the Earth
cringe.
It's too late to destroy it,
because my thoughts have evolved
into a race of beings
far more powerful than myself.
They'll be the death of me,
but their empires will stand
long after I'm gone, before my time.
But every once and a while
I can hear one or two of them praying
to me,
begging for me to bring peace to this world inside my head
that I have no control over.
They don't realize
that I'm not a god,
and that their whole existence is nothing
but the product of years of abuse
from a universe they cant comprehend,
that I can't comprehend.
So I sit nailed to the couch, suffering for their sins
while pointlessly checking my phone
for a text from that friend that says
“I'm sorry”
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
And the fish swim in the lake
and do not even own clothing.
– Ezra Pound
How would they style themselves for the net,
the little fishes of the lake?
Not robes of purity, Ezra,
but sequins cut from trash,
brands bright as lures,
fashioned to catch the eye, a glint of sun.
Would the big ones strap on knockoff fins
to flex in shark cosplay near the shore,
snapping reels in the reeds,
captioned #greatwhitevibes #apexpredator?
Would carp veil themselves in algae,
funeral couture,
posting stories of their grief in green?
Would they admire the fishery tags:
industrial piercings they can’t remove,
or the hook-slit scars from catch-and-release,
each one a verified badge,
proof they were trending once, briefly,
before sinking out of frame?
Would they tilt to the water’s glass,
checking which gill looks slimmer,
tails arched like influencers at golden hour,
the shimmer hiding shame,
the shame we taught them to wear?
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 2:34 PM UTC