"classifieds" poems
hummingbird boy
seeking
hummingbird girl
(seeking only a long summertime of hum
sipping dark red flowers and then some)
summer hummingbird
hummingbird hummingbird
hummingbird unfurls
hummingbird whirs
hummingbird twirls
twirling hummingbird
twirl twirl hummingbird
hummingbird whirls
whirling hummingbird
whirl whirl hummingbird
hummingbird pearls
pearls of hummingbird
pearl hummingbird pearl
humming hummingbird
hum hum hummingbird
hummingbird hummingbird
humming hummingbird
hummingbird bird hums
hum hummingbird hum
fuming hummingbird
fume fume hummingbird
hummingbird fumes
watching... waiting
for any hummingbird girl
humming hummingbird
hummingbird summer
Heard hummingbird’s whir
Within a bright summer day
A whir... now... heart beats
© 2019 Jim Davis
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 11:14 AM UTC
She remembers the day the stick turned blue, “wow for **** up the spout”
He remembers her smile when she told him. Smile, really?
Then there was telling her parents, “okay we'll make this work”
Then there was telling his parents, “You threw your scholarship away for this ***** you're a dumb ***
She remembers the morning sickness
He remembers the hangovers
She felt warm inside when he said it was her choice
He felt like dying when she said she was keeping it
She framed the first ultra sound photo
He deleted his Myspace page
She noticed the day she started showing
The same day he noticed the legs on the waitress
She was snickered at behind locker doors
He quit the team
Her mom brought home baby shoes
His mom circled the classifieds
She got peanut butter cravings
He got hand gun cravings
It's a girl
It's a girl
She remembers finally talking again after four months
He remembers being cornered after 3rd period
She wanted to pick names
He wanted to hang up
She remembers their second first date
He remembers how nice she was
This could really work please kiss me goodnight
We'll see how this goes please don't kiss me
The doctors say the shadow on the ultra sound could be nothing
What if the thing on the picture is something
She prays for the health of Amelia
He begs God to do something about this
They have such a bright future ahead
He had such a bright future ahead
She goes to Goodwill for maternity clothes
He rings her up at the cash register with a kiss
She remembers buying baby clothes at the mall
He remembers how cute the onesies were
She sees him smile
Amelia...good name
She's due next week
He packs his cleats to make room for the crib
She packs to move into his house
His dad packs for a motel
She's still craving peanut butter
He's still craving the waitress
She ate peanut butter
He ate the waitress
She's in labour
He's in traffic
Hold my hand
Ouch...Okay breathe honey...ouch
There's no crying
Nice, quiet baby
Amelia's dead
I'm not a father
She cries into her shirt
He leaves the hospital
She cries into the onesies
He returns the crib to Wal Mart
She burns the ultra sound photos
He grabs his cleats
She gets a hair cut
He quits his job
She returns the diapers and shower gifts
His new Myspace says “single”
She shops for a prom dress
The waitress finds out he's seventeen
Her mom hugs her as she falls asleep
His dad pats him on the back after wind sprints
She can't stop starring at him during prom
He wonders if she went to prom
She writes Amelia in bubble letters on a piece of paper she hangs on her wall a reminder of what's important
He buys a Costco pack of condoms and tacks one to the wall a reminder of what's important
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
can't sleep,
early to rise
and search the
classifieds.
one more movie
should do the trick.
or maybe finish
that next game level?
i'll shower after
i get back from
the station,
long walk since
the tire popped.
first things first,
smoke break.
meet us around back
in buddy's tinted van,
you know
where nobody goes.
8 or 9 months is
plenty of time
to shape up.
gotta get it all in
before there's no more room
for my needs.
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 2:21 AM UTC
I am looking for a place
Single
Male
Darker
Questioning
Price Range: Unemployed
Searching for: the magic puddingyogurt
between yr baby maker and rumpshaker
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 1:21 AM UTC
No muses need apply.
There are no vacancies.
The muse pool is brimming
With metaphors:
*They are thieves
In the night,
Absconding stars
Of time and direction.*
No muses need apply
To classifieds calling
To The Lonely Hearts,
Whose term has expired.
*SWM desiring SWF
for Pina Colada.
Cave optional.*
Lonliness has carried them
To the gates, where
Lonliness awaits.
No. No muses neep apply.
Notes no longer passed
Between rows
In copy-book pages,
Where a returned smile
Meant Sarturday night.
No muses need apply.
Eyes have dried.
No more similies
As you depart,
No figures of speech
From muted heart.
You have left,
And that's a start.
No muses need apply.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
I
Narcissistic children,
Boxed and printed just right
II
Next to the balloon
And the glue and the paints
Granting paper mache dreams
III
Pitter-patter bird steps,
What a ****** job
IV
Too small font,
too little time
Simply tossed away
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 7:49 PM UTC
And then there was orange, glinting in a pile
from the ground outside my second story window.
I sit and count the scattered papers on my
bedroom floor, thinking, "Maybe someday the
past and present will meet," though I know full-well
that they already have.
Now it is twofold, it is insult to injury, it is
twenty seven eleven.
We are lies, aren't we? We are thankful for
the unknown. My father sips scotch and devours the
truth. I catch my connecting flight and travel back
in time. The man in the blue coat is replaced by
the man in the black hat, the man with the feather
hat, and the man with naught but war paint.
It is like the movies, I decide. I settle on a log bench
and read the classifieds in the newspaper.
Mother and father tell me to count my blessings
as if they are sheep. I tell them that their analogy
is flawed. Morning comes and I tie a string around
my ring finger, proclaiming, "I am here to collect
thanks! Bring out your wish lists and your tattered
diaries!" I am a liar; I am thankful for nothing but
sickness and ink. I write "twenty seven eleven"
three hundred times and vow to make a difference.
I fill my car and my fridge and roller blade up
the mountain, chanting, "Noa! Noa! 'Oia'i'o! A'ole
mahalo nui!" My cries go unheard and I sulk
back down, a landslide for the ages.
I begin to write poetry that oozes pretension and
reflects obsession. I try to pronounce the disease
and instead find myself bound to a table crushed by
feast and fear. I have written "twenty seven eleven"
on my forehead and am forced to listen to the "Lord"s
and "grateful"s and "God"s and I have had enough.
I break free and head for reason.
May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 1:06 AM UTC
Two thoughts come to mind this morning. The deficiencies in
our systems of governance -
local, global -
and the first two pages of The End of Faith in which he
mistakes political (acts of war) for
religious acts,
but recognizes understanding the workings of the world is not
the same as knowing
the unknowable.
Every new twinge provokes fear but what is there to fear?
That one won't
live forever?
The year of a man is the day of an inchworm and 267 years
on a reverse-
rotating Venus.
A billion of anything is a lot unless it's the distance one must
traverse to look
at God.
How much silence, or tinnitus, can you handle? A chipmunk
cannot for long
stand still.
Once the twinge passes I'm off to the next task: building a
constituency for this compassion,
that solution.
The dialogue starts with a question. To know the question is
almost certainly to find
an answer.
Conflating questions is the commonest of logic errors. No
negotiation unless the
violence ends.
Why not talk while we fight? We can always **** torture or
assassinate
between conversations.
Justice, or retribution if you want, can remain on the table
even after we
achieve understanding.
Nature is my religion, I know no other, and community is my
church.
The sacrament
is policy debate. I attend church everyday. Our jobs are
hymns (the classifieds
a hymnal)
and payment for services rendered is sung praise and
gratitude. Walking and talking
is prayer.
Strategies to limit or subvert discussion are the only evil.
Violence
is one
but not by far the only one. What's the hurry to build a
highway or free
a people?
The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time and time is
the mercy
of eternity.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 9:20 AM UTC
Doubled over with glee
Extinguishing the flaming escorts
Then taking off to Alphabet city
To meet the escape artist
He's nutty
And has asked me to accompany him to his thirty four acre plot of land
Somewhere out in East **********
He wants to film a blockbuster
It's top secret, only we know
There will be a scene where the protagonist yodels for his father
And erects a windmill with his honest hands
I found this pony-tailed guy in the classifieds
He was looking for an accordion player and I replied
He called me The Flavor of the Week
He had boxes and boxes of wigs and toupees
And every time he put new one on, he was a different person
He would go upstairs and leave me in the den
I'd hear thuds, thumps and screaming
Some kind of emotional turbulence
He said he bit the bullet when Houdini made it big
But when Houdini bit the dust, he went rapping at the door of his estate and gnawed at the door handle
And would not stop ringing the bell
Laughing and laughing
It was his chance to get the rebound
And get down to the nitty gritty
But I couldn't bring myself to tell him this was going to be a box-office bomb
He tried incessantly to revive his dreams
He went mad and ran a square mile
He still writes me, and tells me I never call
The phone works both ways buddy
And I do not see you coming in today's forecast
So I'll come to you, you *******
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Sorry for the delay. I was busy.
I'm still alone. U?
**********************************
zealotry yawping within un
pretentious sporty, quirky,
oddly, manly, kooky, impisly, gummy,
edgy, dorky, cocky, belly airs
to disseminate, a quick
literary flourishing brushstroke
no on nest to dog lie 'n, tie gears
(tigers) boot this chap bears,
who copped, dropped,
plopped out of college devoid of any careers,
and wandered the globe after
searching classifieds for reign leaderless deers,
this buck rogers wannabe could be doe ting,
and assist sleigh get off the ground
on account of his Dumbo ears,
despite abomination, hesitation, and trepidation
to push comfort zone and exposure therapy skyward
in order to over nervousness about being in high places
plus countless other fears,
and an extreme intervention measure considered,
would be brain transplanat with that of another,
whose mental cogs and gears
and a canine like audibility acute as a hares
means to sprint at light speed if senses
being caught in the cross hairs of a gun barrel,
whose fate doomed demise almost insnares,
yet PETA type person would loathe any jeers
if any animal alluded to characterized
heading toward harm
and in reality, this heir,
who favors knitwears
with pink frilly (“I HATE BOYS”) *******
would put his measly life on the line,
cuz aye believe every creature own right to live,
whether they dwell in **** trees or underground lairs,
oh..., or kept in stable condition
of ca horse hi mean mares,
a barn strewn with hay during the day
to fend off pitch black ominous sounds
Equus ferus caballus (Hardy
as a mountain Laurel),
but quite susceptible to nightmares
thus some veteranarians strongly suggest
cloth eye elastic lined ocular shades,
but please make sure Mister Ed,
or his ilk doth newt overhears.
------------------------------------
addy ewe - matthew scott harris
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 12:40 AM UTC
once when I was about 13, an old man wanted
to **** my **** & once he was on his knees,
I punched him in the head & ****** him
in the throat; where we were in the park
[satyrs & nymphs wandered & frolicked
freely through the flowering thicket];
I push him down on his face in the dirt
& **** him in the *** I thought the guy
was in pain the way
his face ******* up, but he seemed
to be enjoying it & thanking me, wandered off
into the bushes; I'm thinking, ***
[everyone knows about the suburban dads
in vans congregating in High School parking lots;
car seats in the back, dad on his knees
or getting his hemorrhoids shimmied;
of course I didn't get a block before
some corner **** was there waiting
for any random passerby to bang her;
the old [pen pals & diaries] combine to form
the electronic social media [incorporating
personals, classifieds & bulletin boards]
where pedophiles can comfortably troll for witless
kids; how the **** does a budding adolescent
get ****** into a blind ****** situation unless
the kid's got pure **** for brains
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
Most
We're composed
Of
Lost and Found Adds
Classifieds
Just Not
Classy
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 1:32 AM UTC