"checkpoint" poems
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!
did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade
old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures
there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)
soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
What reason do we have to be angry.
What reason do we have to curse the stars
and all the threads that bind them.
Who's fault apart from ours is it,
that this is the hell that we have placed ourselves amidst.
Every point in our lives,
lying like a checkpoint,
glowing like a streetlamp in the dead of night.
At the feet of these golden warm, welcoming lights there lay a crossroad.
And we foolish children feeble in heart and mind fumble without a further thought.
We follow our hearts and we follow them into deep into the disguising dark.
-
Adventure was the death of us, antagonizing.
Adventure was heartache,
agony as evil wizards warped our worlds until we were weaning.
It wasn't too late before the brazen beasts had burdened our lives with ever more brutality.
Wolves hungry for the hearts of men, walking on hind legs to better hinder us with horrors.
This world is beautiful with wonder,
but it's wonders are like lights
upon the Lophiiformes head.
Bright, beautiful and inviting
But lead with haste into the jaws of oblivion,
well hidden amongst the dark.
N.H.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
Kahit hindi na ako yung maging una o yung huli mo
Kahit ako na lang yung na sa gitna niyo
Yung pwedeng sumagot ng oo o hindi
Yung madalas mang-aya gumala o mangtokis
Ituring bilang isang kaibigan, ka-ibigan o pareho, wala naman itong kaibahan
Ako na lang yung taga-salo ng mabibigat **** luha kapag hindi mo na kaya pigilan 'to
Ako na lang yung magpapaalala sayo kung gaano ka na kalayo mula sa pinanggalingan mo
Ako na lang yung magsisilbing checkpoint mo kung sakaling hindi mo pa kaya papuntang dulo
Ako na lang yung magiging gabay kapag hindi mo na alam kung saang daan tutungo
Ako na lang yung magbibigay liwanag pagkatapos ng gerang pinasok mo
Ako na lang yung taga-sabi sayo ng "tiwala lang, kaya yan" kapag tambak ka sa dami ng trabaho
Ako na lang yung magpupulot ng bawat piraso ng pagkatao mo na nadurog sa nagdaang mga bagyo
Ako na lang yung susuporta sayo sa laban kapag malapit ka ng matalo
Ako na lang yung mag-aabang sayo kapag malapit ka na sa may kanto
Ako na lang yung magpapayo kapag naguguluhan ka na sa pag-ikot ng mundo
Ako na lang yung mapagkakatiwalaan mo na pwedeng sabihan ng mga pinakatatagong sikreto
Ako na lang. Ako na lang yung gaganap sa parteng to
Yung di ganon ka-importante, hindi din kawalan
Laging maaasahan kaya ayun, laging umaasa
Ang magbabalanse sa daloy ng kwento
Kahit yun na lang tayo; sayo.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
In this fRaGmEnTeD cage,I hear checkpoint moans;
anticipating our prone-positioned
brothers and sisters held
Prone positions against walls
Prone positions against fences
Prone positions against vehicles
Prone positions against buildings
Prone positions against prone positions
Slam-whacked, bloodied, occupied
like our great nation; like our souls
I remember a prophet's call, " love your neighbor
as yourself "
I hear Palestine weeping from Jenin
to Hebron, from Jerico to Gaza seized
I hear lamentations about blood tales
I see only FrAgMeNtS of our land
I see FrAgMeNtS of our proud people
Lo and behold my Palestine quakes as an earth quake
Doves scatter skyward as a prophetic omen
Blue skies and Sun momentarily claim victory
Then inhumanity's ugly face:
America to its Indians, America to its blacks,
America to women, America to its gays,
America to Mexicans,
America to South and Central America,
America once to Southeast Asia,
America to Islam, America with its war crimes,
America and Israel both innocence died
So, we pray Koran's verses upon our prayer rugs
We gesture all hope
The apartheid surrounds us
The dead talk to us
The smoke surrounds us
Perhaps better days we say
Entwined with bizarre everydayness
we accept sleep with fits
Fits without food;
Fits without crucial welfare
Roads, shelters, mock us
sculptured by missiles and bulldozers
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign of terror
We pray upon our prayer rugs
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign terror
And oooh how those awful missile FrAgMeNtS fly
and Muhammad cries with anguished tears, in this writtened
legacy...in written legacy
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:21 AM UTC
it was a strange and fragile Kombination--
a desperate, lonely Hunger,
frenetic Thrill to sate--
we didn't speak each other's native Tongues
but Tongues we shared
in what we found, of random Meals,
and Pocket Lexika to taste
hidden Idioms we strove to understand..
our Bodies splashing Wasser
in the murky Spree, ******* Fountain by Berliner Dom
licking Lips of Bier und Eis a ways away from Reichstag Bullet Holes
below the steel Spirale encased in Glas
transparent Government--a Show for Tourist Stroll..
our Smiles glinting, coated international, that Week agreed
"eine schwester-bruder liebe.."
temptation--and propriety--preserved--
pale lotion, paler skin to honey in the sun
aloft in hostel bunks we shared--
a cush historic castle, touristische nook
of maps and candy pockets, so geil..
gleeful us, to melt from moscau and new york
we shared the deutsch between us,
ein bisschen englisch,
a bit of russisch too for fun...
our soulwise checkpoint charlie held the lust at bay
despite lustgarten romps
and walks beneath the lindens, lane of sighs..
an awkward bridge of question-words we built to muse about the stars
and what we see with only strangers never seen again.
we named ourselves an instant familie...so you could snore on me,
and let me stroke your hair
without the guilt of infidelity
the freedom from, we traded in our blatant,
goodbye tears you shed, i kept inside to craft mnemonic gems
i share and savor in again
'
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
(what the hell is an incel)
the media portrays one loser outcast
as every man, as if man is one
big-ass monolithic hivemind
spewing their loser germs everywhere
think we got too much time on our hands
at the checkpoint, selfies on various
landmark celebrating the evil dead
as the hero for the living, graffiti
I look good in leather, also I look
lovely in the blood of my enemies
the hate a multifaceted gem
in the cavern of my predatory eyes
Would love you to join me in the unit
the machine’s got to roll until Friday
and then we can hatch our evil scheme
man I think I have too much time
on my hands
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
The years had brought me here.
It has been a far walk.
But it’s time I took a breather.
Just to muster a look back.
Many were shed along the way.
Perhaps met with many a forked path.
Or simply that the ticks of the hands
had decided different for them.
I’d dug deep,
and I’d seen you…
Amongst several others.
Making your mark
at every checkpoint.
I haven’t been alone.
And I’ll never be…
As long as you’re here,
making these marks with me.
Jul 29, 2023
Jul 29, 2023 at 9:38 AM UTC
It’s not a ranking or an achievement
As if far from the “top.”
It’s an advancement
Starting from the “first place”;
The greater magnitude being a positive progression.
It’s not even a race in the “first place.”
A dual-digit place marker can and should indicate you’re moving forward.
At this point, you meet the requirements and criteria
For adult access to many sights, tastes,
And times.
Of course, that’s not the ultimate cause of celebration
For being in [the] “23rd place.”
When you’re in [the] 23rd place, you’re in a comfortable position
And not necessarily at a crucial extremum of attention.
There will be those behind and those in front,
So, though you keep your own pace nevertheless,
To know you’re no longer in first place,
Yet not in last place of your course of path,
Means that you have some to teach
And still some who may offer pointers, tips, tricks, inspirations,
And the gift of encounter, however brief or long.
There are many who long to be in first place or last place
Because the extrema tend to get the recognition.
The important insight is to recognize that, not only do the numbers matter little,
But you can make them stand out, like the number 23.
There’s random selection, too, amid those spontaneous humor-goers,
And then there’s placement and fixation
With purpose, sincerity, and intention.
You’re 23 not solely based on record
Or coincidence;
You’re 23 because you lived out the previous age
In every way: what you missed, what you learned, what you offered,
And what you planted.
On your birthday and every day,
The newness longed for arrives in a time not desired or unwanted,
But at a time just right, which still causes waves of pain and waves of relief
Across space anyway. Happy Birthday Devin!
You’re in [your] 23rd place!
Celebrate this checkpoint!
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
Border patrol checkpoint
empty again
made our passports obsolete
nothing
to declare anyway
lush greenery
barely changes
from country to country
overcast skies
precariously straddle
nations
ancient vineyards
still yield
magnificent drops
castles crumble
a little more everyday
not even the towering pines
can save them
moody melodies strum
around my head
forever framing
this summer’s trip
just a little
differently
than the years
before.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
*Amidst thy race to
get ahead in life,
ever wondered
where the checkpoint
of life lies?*
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 6:31 AM UTC
When I was 18 I learned a lesson in jewelry:
A pocketwatch that taught about loss
that was never mine to lose.
I borrowed the euros I paid for it.
Most loss is something felt by ranchers
and bankers
and stock brokers.
Because they own the things they have.
You are not mine and so I cannot lose you.
That's free sadness
and free happiness, too.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
The Truth of it all is that aggression leads to strife
In my own confession I'd rather not die by the knife
We as humans have this need to supersede
despite our insight and things
We only grow when we bleed
Our staff and hands
be tools to keep the lions at bay
All our brains used in vein
when we set a blaze to the grains
now with our swords we make wars
before there was peace to balance
now we make wars in malice
Forgetting Mother Earth feeds us
from the same challis
I cut my hand on the handle as I manicure with the lathe
Spit and Curse at the ground and then walk away
in dismay
our belongings are found in disarray
another jealous of another's work diary
hands and feet destroyed
blood and sweat ignored
We throw Rocks to knock them off
but meet death by the blade
So we hammer out a sheet
just to protect what we've made
As if the mothers hand we're not enough
Surviving her change
Change
I'm from the land of the Star
my culture reigns down from Dallas
my travels are far and wide
with our tools I fly over this freedom palace
but at every checkpoint
they scan with all seeing eyes
They Shadow a Doubt with gun point
Frisky hands finger out for lies
As I challenge that my Utensil is to help not to hurt
they won't believe me cause the pen points cause mental alpha ****
So what’s my lesson to be learned?
How does my Rhema become Word!?
I flock my words like a Sheppard guard it from the absurd
leave my lessons and my sessions underground to mature
Poetry is what I breed and when I die all may see
some take shelter beneath branches of my Po Wet Tree
that drop insight and wisdom seed seasoned with change of Colored leaves
When they cut me down
with Axe and Dagger
my pen points the bullet
A running Kid like Merle Hagard
I spread ink seeds like soul feed
emotion water and potion notions
like fodder funneled, I dyed, You reed
Sow, only take that you need
if you have a life then keep it free of weeds
cherish the fruits of labor and leave minds be.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
My Dear Friend,
It’s been a long time since we’ve talked, I’ve tried writing this letter at least 10 times because I can’t decide how to write it. Friend, life has not been treating me well.
You see life is like a video game. You can make choices, say certain things do certain things, you can choose to progress, or hit pause for a while. But I’ve never saved my game. I always try to restart and redo choices to stop making mistakes, I try.
But in the end we never do win a game that we were never taught how to play. We were not given a manual to tell us what to do.
Ages and birthdays are like levels friend. A checkpoint to come back to but sometimes… I find it difficult to try playing this game again, maybe I just got bored again.
I choose to write you a letter because talking to you in person is sometimes a challenge I don’t have the strength to face. And I’m not afraid to talk to you. I’m just afraid of talking.
If I say your name too many times it might lose its meaning, repeating words over and over again until they don’t mean anything anymore. So I will say your name only when I absolutely have to. Your name means too much to me, I will not let it lose meaning.
Listen, I’ve been praying for you every night that you’re still alive. That I’ll see you soon. I haven’t slept in what seems like forever, but I don’t really see why sleeping is something I still have to do.
I’m losing consciousness and I can’t speak in full sentences as well as I used to. But this is the price you pay for playing a risky game.
I should probably send this letter tomorrow, but I’m tired. And if I don’t keep myself awake I’ll never get up in the morning. But, I haven’t said anything in this letter that makes any sense. I’m trying to figure this out on my own. But you’re not exactly close by.
When you get this letter friend, please... Come home.
I’ll be waiting by the street corner, and we’ll watch the stars like we used to.
Be safe, be kind, and be brave. I’ll see you soon ok?
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
I see you.
I see myself in you.
I see not the facade that you set like a mask upon your pale face
or the strings tied at your wrists, pulling your arms every which way
or your pain trailing behind you like a black cloud, thunder cracking, as a smile stays
your present is my past
i know you.
Our veins are corded rubber bands that stretch from our arms,
around our backs through every checkpoint joint in our bodies,
they slingshot feelings throughout
so that not only will our brain feel the hurt but everything else too.
We are every single broken person thats searching through the rubble of their own mistakes, hands bleeding, praying for shards of their splintered heart to appear
i am therefore you are and vice versa
im aware of the struggle you go through
that unbelievability that you can swing your legs from your bed and make it through the day
i am conscious of the crippling insecurity,
the four walled prison that you built yourself
the bars, stronger than anything even superman could bend, that are made of the insults that have been muttered
I identify with the confusion with which you feel lost
you don't know who you are
when you lean your head back and subconsciously search the starry night sky for your meaning
I'm there
I am you, and you are me
in a simple merge we are one
it has always been this way
and it always will be
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
She's just touching the surface
reaching no more than her own pain
losing days trying to wash her tear stains
the world's wishing her to rise above
look in their eyes and see the truth
to see what they try to allude
there is no straight way, no easy route
and everyone is the passenger of the same boat
looking for the very same perfect coat
But no one will get something which is not theirs
fate has decided everyone's own roadmap
there are some small steps, some big traps
Wait for the check points, rather than all stones
the game of the life, all to achieve and leave
don't just halt at one step to grieve
because she's just wasting her time.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
Rampant, bold uncertainty; at times it grows unchecked.
A fearful twinge too often spreads, surpassing all holds kept.
The bars affixed to life you've grasped, once linear and true
Now seem to veer so far from straight, away from all you knew.
What's to do when what you dreamed distorts and changes shape?
Nightmares born from vivid roads bisecting checkpoint's gate.
Stages sought now can't be reached, but detours linger there.
Sadly pointing, often though toward distant, lone despair.
Reluctantly, an awkward press results from giving in.
Ignorance, or lack of choice compels minds to begin.
Unwanted course, embarked upon, bears pressing weight, deforming.
Contorting souls which once had known the warmth of 'morrow's morning.
Expected glare from dawn's first light was ne'er a surprise.
Hated trials through distant lands create some darkened skies.
Reactions learned are useless then, accustomed as you are.
Anticipated outcomes are like flies within a jar.
Choked free of air, they surely die, but more then take their place.
It's these replacements, newly born, one tries to hold with grace.
Seeping through the cracks in hands that have no strength to hold.
Should you have used that jar at all? Why has this life grown cold?
Perhaps a high regard was due to that you took for granted.
Or maybe something just turned up, and shook the feet you'd planted.
Regardless, here you stand unsure, so lonesome is this fight.
Who's to know? What's now to come? Just tell me. Is this right?
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 6:59 AM UTC
When all the magic is gone
we will crawl from checkpoint to checkpoint
with dull great white eyes
always hungry
always starving ourselves
gotta look good for the summer
when all the magic is gone
we will howl out for sacrifice
it’s shoe harvesting season
and you’ve gotta cop some of this crop
when all the magic is gone
the national anthem will change with top 100
and when the air is stale
the prophets and poets will be driven out of town
to test their mettle in uncaring wilderness
when the magic is gone
we will hail the president on bended knee - blindfolded
when the magic is gone
everything will be trending
and nobody will give a ****
so get your abra kadabras in now
you don’t know how much magic we have left
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
"Look into the camera,"
and bring your eyes nowhere else,
not behind to where the lady stands,
holding an eight-year-old's hand.
"Place your forefinger on the sensor,"
and don't dare move it closer
to your wet eyes, for the man
with the ten-year-old might see
you shudder.
The arrow always points forward,
so take your steps fast and sure.
Ignore the shouts, shove away the feels,
smile and wave your way to
DEPARTURE.
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
check out the word choices
break not only the fourth wall
but also the ceiling and the floor
implore implore implore implore
for the chance to have it all
or just for the voices
to let you have a voice
no
instead you have discord
city worlds go time digital backup
word press history calendar fuliginous
warfare paroxysm burst constitution
first amendment second amendment
state duma seven clip monitor hotel
bravo checkpoint charlie tension
dark power in this hour
lame duck
****
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
You were beautiful from the moment you stood out and said 'hi'
And I was nothing but a truck load of sad October nights,
but then I met you and I wanted to move on, yet freeze time...
I loved the way that you listed all your favourite bands,
and helped me see a side of music that I didn't understand
Though Taylor Swift will never be on your most recently played,
I know you'd still keep an open mind
And my mind will always be grateful enough to rewind..
Back to the first week when I was still a mess,
a dreamer with no drive,
writing a book for no one to impress
but I wrote thinking things would someday be different,
And i was right..
Cause in those November nights,
those long and tiring bus rides
you were the checkpoint every time I almost died
and now we're in December,
and I don't know how long is left of this ride..
I'd never thought that you would slowly start hating yourself,
just because I always swore you knew yourself better than anyone else
but it turns out that you are just another puzzle to unlock, to solve..
and in the second week of November we just sat there in a shop and read,
and in the third week I remember, sitting in a coffee shop, writing with passion again
oh what a wonderful way to be of use, as my muse and best friend
But feelings change, as hearts over think..
And sometimes all it takes, is just a blink back to November..
Oh, those insightful talks, about the impact of long walks
i held onto your every word and thought
but that was in November,
and those meaningful hugs and that early morning rush..
you caught me busted, running from the bus'
and now I'm sentimental
Oh I know you'll find someone maybe in a month or two,
but I hope you'll always love me as much as i love you
'cause all I seem to remember last month
is that for all of November,
you were the reason why I couldn't give up
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
The year began with promises
Spilled over from the year that past.
Celebrating a passing checkpoint;
Ignorant of the bridge's collapse.
Too late to change and too late to stop
I dove in and I dove fast.
It was stupid to think that
Something like that would really last.
Left beaten and defeated
I tried to continue.
I tried to push but couldn't do.
I dragged on with a spirit diminished.
Thinking back that, had I looked,
Had I looked I could've finished.
And things would be different
I'd be the better instead of the finished.
The rest of the year was no better.
I hung my head low, not exactly in shame
To try and find peace with what had remained.
And retreated to my own mind
To collect what'd been left behind.
While maintaining a facade
Of the one who's unshaken;
Always joking about **** **** and baby makin'.
We all have our lows,
And we all have our highs,
And memories we cherish,
And those we despise.
But despite what has happened,
In the year of 2014,
I grew from my struggles.
Even if I struggled to know what that means.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
My new favorite poet is a fifteen year old girl.
Margaret is clever it's astounding.
I knew youth was coming like this but usually when I saw it up close they we're just these maniacal computer wiz kids but this girl seems to party.
I hope she meets Alex Turner someday.
I hope she meets Andrew VanWyngarden too.
I don't know why, but I guess it's because they're dashing and she deserves the best.
I hope the world don't tangle her up too much and don't sit on her like a fat bully.
I know she can dodge it though and we need her and her vision of peace like a checkpoint.
My favorite new poet is a fifteen year old girl.
Shine on Margaret, light up the world.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
I spun a fine metal string
I took four corners of my heart
Smoothing them out
With rarely loving hands
I attached the key to my newly minted kite
Out into the storm I swirled
Climbing the glass hill
So many fine lined fractures
I could find at least several sonnets
If only I stooped low enough to read
But alas I've crested my checkpoint
Outstretched you are
Thunderheads dominating the sky
Flashes of light
But my heart still flies on
Unhindered
Paper thin
Right where it's supposed to be
The key flailing gaily
Pure darkness
But sometimes darkness
It can be the brightest thing ever
And it's finally struck its mark
The X has been found
The electricity outlining your delicate veins
I never realized how pretty you were
Smoke curls out of my mouth
Stunned and dazed
Tendrils flowing freely
Dregs of adrenaline
Flooding out of my system
I never knew that I could feel this way
I never knew
As I lay upon the ground
Watching my hearted kite drop gracefully
Shriveled and burned to a crisp
How important you were to me
Until we were struck
So in our dying moments as you finally reach me
I fold my arms carefully across you
Pressing you into my chest as if I could undo what I did
And we watch the storm rage
As everything slowly melts
Into a velvety soft black
And as one
We stop beating
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
What was meant by the shadow of night,
In the early man’s eyes what was meant by its darkness,
Impending doom and ominous grace,
Reveled and revealing,
Misunderstood through all time as something evil,
The great horns protrude through the whimsy,
Siphoning portions of animal instinct,
Fear the greatest export
Where is the fear of the blinding light,
That ignorant light that plagues the houses on the block
From every window flickers the flame
Television sets on sleep mode,
Movies set on the title menu playing over and over
While the sleeping body flails aimless in animated suspension,
Insomniacs accomplishing something trivial by reaching the next checkpoint,
Even the light of the candle burning as the neo-bohemian reads,
All looking out the window at the blaring buffoons ransacking the night,
Making love to the stars and howling at the moon,
Insanity and blindly causing the world’s collapse,
Laughing at the expense.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC