"conor" poems
Looks like you need a drink...
What'll it be, let me think...
One thing you should know, Little Miss,
I'm not a bartender... I'm just winging this...
Hmm...
Arc in a cocktail shaker
Filled halfway up
Throw Melz in the mix
Just a dollop
Let's see now...
Spoonful of rhymes
Make that a table
Few drops of Conor
If he's up and able
Almost ready...
A touch of Tea
Maybe a tad more
A dose of Frank
In a little pour
Just about done...
Cap it up
Shake that shaker
Pour it out
Top with Silver
Ahh...
In a cocktail glass
Now sprinkle with Dani
Let's not stinge
Sprinkle aplenty
There you go, Hon... Take a full swig
When you see the bottom, your pain wouldn't seem so big...
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
Well I'm glad you asked.
I'm your next monumental task.
Call me Rufus because I'm about to make your empire crumble.
From my earthquaking hook, it will make the crowds rumble.
Float like a butterfly, hit like Tyson.
I got the strength of the All American Bison.
That left they say is “the kiss of death” please,
you haven't seen a real American breed.
A combo of the world's greatest.
My team is the smartest and latest.
What could you have to possibly show?
I’ll hit you with the jab high and low.
You’re skills of movement and power are ****
**** I can’t wait to make you cry and quit
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 9:41 PM UTC
You will never understand the contribution you have made to my life,
You are the friend that really came through for me when I found myself in strife.
No-one else could see past the mistake I had made,
They chose to ignore how I felt and fixated on my darkest shade
I have always looked up to you, you have always inspired me
You've always been the one I've looked at when deciding who I'd like to be
Please don't throw your life away,
I really count on you
I know that being here for me is something you can do
I love you, I appreciate you.
- Brianna Carter
You look up to me,
Quite literally,
But in this case you mean metaphorically
Yet similarly,
I looked up to you,
Size doesn't matter just a point of view
You are a better person than I,
As pure and beautiful as the stars and the sky
In harmony, elements defy,
The birds and the planes that roar or sigh
No matter what happens, you always come though
Shrug it off, move on, it's just what you do,
This is why I wish I were like you
Yet despite all this you look up to me?
I am blind, can't really see clearly,
But even I can tell you are a rarity
A treasure, and thus better than me
-Conor Blatchford
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
It has been a couple of weeks
since the rigor of being McGregor
boiled down to nothing,
and Mayweather
had an Irma of punches
ricochet off of him.
I recollect this seemingly regular
pre-big-match rumor,
that the game was arranged.
These verdicters
pronounced a loss for Conor.
If so, Mc. man there
took way too many hits for the money.
Now that McGregor is left for dead,
and verily, Floyd
may or may not have added
a few more Lamborghinis
from the Billion bucks prize !!!
Many fortunes have changed.
I've fallen deep down
into this cemetery
where my thoughts lay dead,
and from the abyss sprout up a paradox
that stands for all fortunes:
We all fish in the same waters;
if one stirs a ripple,
driving the fishes away,
another is gifted a school without much labor.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
Brianna: "Happy Valentine's Day!"
Me: "Happy On-My-Own-For-The-15th-Year-Of-My-Life Day :( "
"Gloomy Conor is Gloomy :/ "
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
Conor's got P.E. , so his kit is washed,
I've wrapped his butties in foil, so they don't get squashed,
Pork Luncheon meat, in a crispy roll,
And a carton of Ribena, to fill that hole.
Jess starts College at One, so she'll wake at Five - to ,
Cheese and Pickle, will have to do,
I've had my pint of milk, with three Weetabix,
Got a Flagon of Cider, all the boxes are ticked.
A days grafting ahead, out near Billingshurst,
Laying bricks and blocks, building up a thirst,
And home to the hungry, back to the shops,
It's either Chicken Kievs, or half-price lamb chops.
Custard and Pie, hot milky drinks,
Then everyones asleep, except for me, who thinks,
About tomorrows butties, fruit and snacks,
Calories, nutrition, vitamins and facts.
Up at dawn, in an old bobble-hat,
Making food for them all, even the cat,
A tin of Tuna, he's well impressed,
Another flagon of Cider, another sweat-stained vest.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
Night gazing
Shooting star
Make a wish
Wonder
From afar...
Full moon
Blazing bright
Keep moving
Everything
Will be alright
*Simple silence
She says to me
With wired words
L'Amour
It's not meant to be...
So wish undone
Still I'll move on
Progressive regression
Is not
Worth none*
Still we breathe
Arms still reach
For dreams
Stretched
At the seams
Days go by
Sun still rises
My love,
Life is full of
Surprises
*Sir prises open
Empty jars of Paint
Life lacks
Colour, he says
And you grow faint
Resilience helps
Pull through woes
Unseen by
Other folk
But she knows*
Deep down
Within her soul
There IS love
Out there, another
Half to make her whole
Never give up
Keep faith alive
My dearest one,
Even without love
You will survive
*Yet don't survive
Just not to die
Love every
Day and spread
Your catching smile
You complete many
Link even more
You matter,
Are important,
Maintain our core*
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
To Speak of the Future....
Conor Blatchford:
The future isn't clear,
Don't assume failure is near
For the future is uncertain
So to speak, an Iron Curtain
Hidden agenda:
The question was 'To be or not to be?'
Even Shakespeare had a glimpse of doubt ,
For when he wrote a word of sea,
He always found a way to swim out.
So me calling myself a failure is a premonition,
On a future event so far in the distance,
That if I did succeed it would be a mere addition.
To lose is to win in such a cruel existence.
Example if your claiming victory,
Should you achieve it , you may bask in glory.
Yet if you don't achieve it, you have failed.
Then that would have been ship set sailed.
Conor Blatchford:
Ship set sailed it may be,
But failure remains unclear to see
No matter how hard ones tries,
Future sight-seeing is usually lies
Usually
Hidden agenda:
The green light is dimming and the orgastic future is gone,
Yet I still stretch my arms and carry on.
Simple as is , I know a failure to be made,
But I'm still working in hopes of getting paid.
Conor Blatchford:
Failure is always destined to be,
Yet mostly
Impossible to see
You wish to be paid from your mistake?
The only thing failure can rake
Is misery; emotion's most deadly snake
A snake with fangs
That does bite
Whence you give in
To this devilish sprite
You will lose
All you had
And never gain
What you desire so bad
If failure is certain,
Then so to is victory
Yet both continually
Elude me
This is the future
That I think I see
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
I listen to synthetic music now
because my heart’s a little less raw,
a little more metallic,
and Conor Oberst cannot
coax open pandora’s box.
Because your ****** eyes
are no longer my 10:30
goodbye.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
I looked for a corner,
somewhere quiet in the library.
how exciting, an e-mail with opportunities
from a professor who cares.
i want it, but I can't help but
feel a little sad,
wherever you are dad.
tough love.
scrunchies, a book of matches,
and crumbs from crackers
sit in my pockets.
laundry basket, mile high
way past the brim.
i wasn't kidding when I said
you'd find a bottle of whiskey
hiding in there.
and all I wanna do is get through
college, I think.
I want to be a strong woman,
for now,
a young lady.
flash-backs to all the fun times.
my hand writing drifts
in shapes
to the sound of
a music box.
the curtains created
pretty shadows that
danced upon my arms.
I tried to be cool,
reading the newspaper.
I wanted to look
oh, so serious.
I am a joker.
I am your equal.
Yeah, salty dog?
Which aspect?
Can I say these things in poems?
I read the words,
why can't I marry my cousin?
these things keep me from
my sleep.
sweet dreams, candy-man.
oh, canyon creek,
where shall I go?
a mind hole?
a gold mine in the
gutter of my mind?
blind.
thanks Conor,
for the milk thistle.
is it fair to choose what
we want to hear?
did they know that 2013
would be so strange?
Professor Coker
wants something typed,
******* i gotta go pick up my bike.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
that girl in the conor
80 lbs of weight
she's beautifully broken
skinny almost dead
that girl in the front
200 lbs of weight
she's happy and giggly
but fat and almost dead
we have me in the middle
100 lbs of weight
i'm neither happyor beautifull
i'm fat, living but not at all alive
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Dude, stop looking at her like that
Stop looking at her like what?
Like you wanna get in there
Fine, how's that?
A rather interesting ceiling you got there
How the **** did someone get gum on the roof?
You know it's Grove right?
Oh yeah, I forgot. ******* high-schools
She's talking to you, *******
*Oh **** sorry*
"You are weird, you know?"
"Why's that?"
"Talking to yourself like that"
"Eh, tell me something I don't know"
Hey, just joined the party late. What's up?
Just telling Conor he shouldn't stare at girls
*Hey, shut the **** up, she's alright*
She's also taken, fucko
I'm aware, doesn't mean I'm not allowed to admire
I agree
Course you do, you're a ******* **** too
Am not
*Shut the **** up guys, trying to study here*
"So, what did I miss?"
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 7:45 AM UTC
You've never held me so closely
or as tenderly, dear.
The lies built up inside you
and created a barrier of fear.
Your smile has never been as real
or as heartbreakingly sweet.
Your heart thumped so timely
without skipping one beat.
I sensed your truth
for the first time yesterday
I wanted you more than ever
and in so many more ways.
I wanted you back without waiting
the long, coming days.
To run free, away from your disease
and into the sun's bright rays.
I only long for you, love
without all of your pain.
You really gave me comfort
I can never explain
I only hope to have it back
one day, after your addiction wanes.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
Star Gazer:
Unlucky overlord from sydney australia. Named hidden agenda before.
We conversed in only poetry remember?
For once where the tyre swing hung on the tree
Now hangs a broken noose....
Remember?
Conor Blatchford:
I remember, for our poetic talk
Became our poetry
And I always did enjoy
The leisure of a pleasant memory
Star Gazer:
A pleasant memory twas,
But memories get forgotten,
But I do send applause,
For a memory unlike cotton.
Conor Blatchford:
Applause graciously accepted,
No roses are thrown but none needed
That memory was but a play, one of many
That in life will continually be seeded
Star Gazer:
Until uprooted without reason
Dangling onto what is left,
And heart plays traitor in treason,
And memory is but a theft.
Conor Blatchford:
True, memory is not quite the event
But tend and care for it like any plant
And it will grow into something fond
Something that becomes more real and less like a mask
Star Gazer:
Humans are attracted to masks,
Cruel facades are what we have known all our lives.
Conor Blatchford:
A façade makes life worthwhile
A display of grace and eloquent style
Hiding what we truly are
Is perfectly understandable, not in the least bizarre
Star Gazer:
But where is the line between imaginary and reality,
Feeding false hopes and liee to banality,
It is just one step closer to hell,
And one stop further from heaven as well
Conor Blatchford:
Heaven and Hell are concepts designed
To induce goodness and quell pride
For even though evil creates a social reject,
An old saying re-written: no-one is perfect
So how are we supposed to climb
The stairway to Heaven with imperfection in mind?
Wouldn't it be just easier to fall
Into the Hellhole that awaits us all?
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
Conor Oberst said
"I want a lover I don't have to love.
I want a girl who's too sad to give a ****
And I'm sorry I think it's romantic
to be that girl.
I'm sorry I'm so bad at changing.
I'm sorry I can't love you more.
I have to leave, because the outcome of us is always this:
broken phones, empty bottles,
and endless drives at four am
when we both aren't taking
because we can't talk without screaming.
I'm sorry I'm too sad to give a ****
I always told you I hated beginnings because beginnings have an end.
You're the most beautiful thing to ever happen to me.
This is the end.
I'm sorry.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Conor Blatchford
17 hours ago
Maddii... where you at? <3 if you want me to explain what there is to love about yourself, here I go:
1: You are a ************* poet. That's cool. Making words rhyme is hard for a lot of people. Expressing emotion in those words is even harder
2: Caring. You keep talking to me, that's casual caring. You ask me how I am, that's caring. You are willing to listen to me, metaphorically listen to me because this is typed, so... and that's true caring right there
3: Friendship. You are one of a select few that consistently makes me smile. Also, you listen to me ***** about my life
4: Loyalty. You're still here, right...? <3
5: Humour. Ties in with friendship. You not only make me smile, but also laugh. I laughed in class once. Especially just earlier, when I read what you did to that kids' nose. I imagined the pause between him laughing and having his nose broken, it was so comical I laughed out loud. Everyone thought I was insane.
6: Inspiration. Some of my poems wouldn't have even been written were it not for you
7: "Sneaky". Manipulating me into giving you ideas. Why? Because I love you (reference to earlier conversation) <3
8: You are one of the few reasons I take pleasure in waking up each day. I have people constantly saying **** about me, knowing I have a short fuse and taking advantage of it, but not you. Also, I look forward to talking to you. First thing I do when I open my laptop is send you a message
I would keep going, but this is long enough. Oh, and I feel guilty. I'm not sure I said happy birthday on your 17th. But Happy Late Birthday from me. Once again, I apologise, I felt/feel so bad
Love you Maddii. Stay safe. <3
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC
Star Gazer:
How are you fellow poet?
I hope the burning sun is keeping you
Warm without knowing it
Through a thin veil of sky so blue.
Conor Blatchford:
A pure veil of blue
It is beautiful, white fluffy clouds
Keening wind and lapping waves
The most pure of calming sounds
Star Gazer:
Waves rush the rocks
Though the sun pierces the clouds
Crashing, smashing and rumbling
Till the mountains come crumbling.
Conor Blatchford:
Sun sets and darkness falls
The stars show themselves at night
Calm waves rippling
Reflecting that beautiful starlight
Star Gazer:
Though bright a light may be
The touch of a star is all but lost
When we ask of fun and glee
Amidst all the chaotic costs.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
reece
i spent a few years being angry with you for stealing that first kiss and tainting a memory. i would never have wanted to describe that moment to my future children as it happened. fifteen and very drunk. you took the hope for a romantic first kiss, in a dimly lit room and flushed cheeks, and replaced it with being lustfully pushed into walls and cars and grazed knees.
you left me with the stink of your aftershave on the collar of my dress and two 'love' bites on the side of my neck.
conor
when i was fifteen, you were the apple of my eye. i am still sorry that i thought you were wasting time.
wasting time. that's why the whole thing fell apart for me, i had those typical naive teenage dreams. if i hadn't had got so mad, i wouldn't have let him kiss me.
our first kiss was cute and maybe i'll tell a white lie and describe it to my kids as mine. door step, holding hands, porch was lit.
jamie
you found me at the time of my life that i thought was bad. but now i see, it was simply the calm before the storm and that the worst was yet to be.
i was not allowed to even bring up your name on a social networking site without a backlash of hate.
maybe we crave for the forbidden, it originated from the garden of Eden but i do wonder if that apple had tasted as sweet as your kiss.
i can't tell you how much i enjoyed those very few weeks with you, you helped me to realise i deserved so much better.
now I've found it
we kissed under a staircase
billy
oh, how i wish your name was not on my list.
tom
maybe I am biased because I am currently irretrievably in love with you, but our first kiss was my favourite.
the very touch of your skin almost made me cry because you are just so soft and I was not used to a boy being so nice.
and how strange it is, to be so happy in your presence.
how strange it was, to spend the entire day in London showing you off.
I could not, for the life of me, recall one single face
of strangers we walked past on that day.
I tried to do things properly, no kisses on the first date, but it's hard to say no when you lean in and grab my face.
and during the kisses after that one, you were worried would ask my why my hands would shake and my lips would tremble
and I was sorry, but sometimes things that have been smashed clatter around a little
and I know it's a long shot, but I have to ask,
if our first kiss could be my very last.
train station goodbyes, the best and the worst.
but every kiss with you is as enchanting as the very first.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
I know you have a heavy heart, I can feel it when we kiss
so many girls stronger than me, have thrown their backs out
trying to lift it
but me, I'm not a gamble
you can count on me to split
the love I sell you in the evening, by the morning won't exist
And I'm not sure what the trouble was, that started all of this
The reasons all have run away, but the feeling never did
It's not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live
Cause what is simple in the moonlight, by the morning never is
What's so simple in the moonlight, now is so complicated
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
Tweedle-dum, tweedle-dire,
I met a man who was all fire
"I fight for justice, I seek revenge,
I use violence to avenge".
Tweedle-dum, tweedle-dice
I met a man who was like ice
"I use my words to get my way
My tongue is a whip and you will pay".
Tweedle-dee, tweedle-dallow,
I met a man who was a shadow
"I keep secrets in the night,
Never exposing them to the light."
Tweedle-dee, he looked lost,
This angel I knew called Permafrost
"I do what I must to provide good advice,
Fate can wait and chance is but a dice."
Tweedle-o, oh I dare,
To tell you about a demon named Nightmare
"To **** you is my ultimate goal,
I'll bleed you out and devour your soul."
Tweedle-o, tweedle roolf,
I was surprised to meet a wolf
"I supply to those in need,
I protect and defend this wolf-pack I lead".
I realise I've been talking to myself
"Who am I, or am I someone else?"
I laugh and smile as I figure, in the end,
That I already know who I am
All of them, and they make me
I am Conor:
A wolf, an angel, a demon,
Two opposites and
A shadow
All under my name
Tweedle-o, that was easy,
Now you know what makes me.... me.
:)
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC
What's in a god **** day?
Ten days ago, I was in the
backseat of
a 2008 Chrysler Minivan.
One hundred days ago,
I was stumbling and
climbing in
Burlington,
reborn.
What's in a god **** day?
What's in a god **** day?
Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I was trapped,
homeless and loveless,
in a private, Stepford-studded
sort of way.
What's in a god **** day?
You tell me--
but I've learned that while my streets may change,
the concrete is always the same.
One thousand days ago,
I passed the baton to Richie Sullivan,
thus turning my wild,
private reality
on its dainty little head.
Five thousand days ago, I learned that
Gregory was going to New Zealand
for three hundred and sixty-five days,
give or take a few. But
what's in a god **** day?
What's in a god **** day?
Yesterday I spoke with Janina,
today I did the same,
and tomorrow I will speak with her as well.
Yesterday I did not speak with Conor McCall
or Brian Gagnon
or Julia Ginsburg
though I knew them all once.
I will not speak with them today,
or tomorrow, either.
What's in a god **** day?
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
his cries cut into me
each syllable makes me shiver
fragile, fleeting, flickering in my mind
his voice floats frail
too tender to touch
too exquisite to escape
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 7:27 PM UTC
The bowl’s been worn down to a plate
That bowl of oranges has rotted
She wings her lines
In a playwright
Of her life
She promises to leave when he’s happy
He’s depressed so she’s forced to go
But she looks into his eyes
And there it is- the emptiness grasps her
He looks at her face
Misses the passion flooding her eyes
Filling the gap between her lips
One last kiss
Meaning is thin
So is the hope
Along with the life inside this heartbreak girl
Maybe she wants to break the promise
Maybe it’s because she misses the misery
All she wants is for him to say yes
Like the first day of my life
She held a knife to his throat
He didn’t give a ****
So she gave up
Not even close to giving up
But couldn’t forget the flowers he gave or the heart he took
We’re fortunate to draw our own stars
Thrown out of the corner of that beauty
Every song is a song to you
Or a meaning to me
Wish you were here
Elliott, Conor, Isaac
Why
Why I’m like the trumpet in Mr. Smith’s rose parade
The poem to me
Which ripped me to pieces by the way
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
I fell in love with a girl
one summer during high school.
she had bronze skin
and long fingers
and a meek giggle
that would crescendo beautifully
whenever things went just right.
we were happy
for a while.
she made me a mixtape for my birthday
with all the songs that reminded her of me
including the folk song that was playing
when we first kissed.
it was awkward
and nervous and shy
but so were we.
I still listen to it on bad days.
I swear the best days of my life
were spent on a bean bag chair
on her bedroom floor
with her hand in mine
and no words being spoken
because there were no gaps
that words needed to fill.
sometimes we would paint each others' nails
so we would match
and my patience would be tested
as we waited for the paint to dry.
I wanted to touch her
but I didn't want to smear my nails
after she had painted them so delicately.
I had her love on my hands
and she was a part of everything I created.
she got me a stuffed animal when she was on vacation
I swear it was the longest week of my life.
it was a teddy bear with a purple ribbon
and I named him Conor
after our favorite musician.
I still sleep with it on bad days.
but nothing ever stays the same.
we drifted and moved on and found new lives
without each other
and now I barely know her name.
I wonder how she's doing sometimes
but I don't have her phone number anymore.
her old one's out of service
but I still call it on bad days.
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 2:53 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
One Word ......... Family :)
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC