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JA Doetsch Mar 2014
I'm looking deep into her eyes

Looking into her eyes...
is like opening a door that leads...
to another door


Wait..really?  OK...I open the door.

This door leads to a long, winding path,
like the winding path of your love.  
The path leads to a third door


O...K. I open the door.

This door leads to a spiral staircase
descending down, down, down,  deep
into her soul.
At the bottom of the staircase is--


A door?

A door.

I open the door

The door is locked.  The key might be under the mat

Seriously?  I check under the mat

Nope, not there.  Maybe try under the small rock next to the door

Oh for the love of...I check the rock

There is a key

Wonderful...I unlock and open the door

Inside this door is a large atrium
the glass ceiling giving way to a
beautiful summer night, the stars
twinkling in the distance.  At the
far end of the Atrium, there is a curtain


Sigh I pull aside the curtain

There is a door

Come on!  I open the ruddy door.

You find yourself in a long hallway,
with fine art hanging along the walls.
Crimson carpet lines the floor.
At the end of the hall is a door  locked
with a combination biometric
fingerprint scanner/retinal scanner


What.

You have 10 seconds to unlock the door
before the hunter-bots de-atomize you


What!?  Ok! I try my fingerprints and eye!

The door unlocks and the hunter-bots stand down.
In the next room are three vials.  Two of them contain
terrible neuro-toxins that will lead to an excruciatingly
painful death.  The third will allow you to continue on
to the next room.  You have 30 seconds to choose before
you are terminated


What the hell is this!?

This is the path to true love hidden deep in her eyes

No, this is insanity!

15 seconds

OK!  Geez!  Umm..Vial Number 2!

You're totally dead

Oh god!

Just kidding.  None of them had poison...was just messing with you

THAT'S IT!  I'M DONE WITH THIS

Really?  There's only one more door.  I swear

...Fine.  What ridiculous thing do I need to do to open it.

It's already open.  You find yourself in a circular room
with a pedestal in the center.  On the pedestal is a hand
written note.  On that note is the key to everlasting happiness


I pick up the note

You smell sweet hints of your beloved's perfume and
notice the care that each word of the note was written.


What does the note say?

My love:

Next Tuesday Only --  Buy One-Get One Free at J.J's Pizza.  Cannot be combined with any other offers/coupons.  Must present coupon upon purchase.  Expires 1/14/14


...An expired coupon for Pizza?

Such a wonderful expression of love!

How do I get out of here...

You see a door
.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2017
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.


~~~

faint knocking at the door to the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic, lyrical rapping,
sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner, a judgment resister,
flaunting an expired coupon, trumpeting demands for a recount,
waving it, claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a mercy discount and
an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly, beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering,  how both,
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides, the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared,  that my finality was spirit consumer?

one voice, answers,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning or
even drowning
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels, the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books and records of everyone,
are permitted this to query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are poorly constructed
in his image

he, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
he, who best answered
this judging,
this calling out,
calling in
incantation,

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution


                                                    ­| | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.

Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.

^^"A Kohens ancestors were priests in the Temple of Jerusalem. A single such priest was known as a Kohen, and the hereditary caste descending from these priests is collectively known as the Kohanim.[2] As multiple languages were acquired through the Jewish diaspora, the surname acquired many variations." Today, with no temple, the limited role of the Kohanim is to bless the Jewish people on the high holy days with a  special prayer with abeloved tune,  instantly evocative (see wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing) The Kohanim are still revered, honored, and always called up first to the Sabbath reading of the weekly portion of the Old Testament

A thank you to Bex for proofing and encouragement.
Part I of a trilogy
For a  more detailed analysis of the roots of the song, "Who By Fire," and its origins, see:
_____________________________________________
http://www.leonardcohen-prologues.com/who_by_fire.htm

He worked on the song Hallelujah, arguably his most famous composition, for ten years.
At the mailbox, again:
“Who loves me, baby?”
Well, let’s see: there’s a flyer from Mercury Insurance,
Reminding me that most middle-income customers
Save an average of $4 million smackaroons when they switch too.
The Penny Saver USA.com is here,
Thank God, almighty!
So now I know that Thomas Roofing & Paving
Is having a special on 20-year leak-free flat roofs;
"All work guaranteed & insured.
No job too big or small.
Free estimates/Emergency services/License # I8U-69."
And thank you, Jesus,
For another $4.99 Farmer Boys 3-Egg Breakfast
Combo with Coffee coupon, and that
Little Caesars Hot-N-Ready, $5.00 cheese or pepperoni,
Mae-West-“why-don’t-you-come up and see me sometime?”—mailer. And, of course, another technology Siren’s song:
Verizon FiOS delivers entertainment this big,
Dish me up some dish NETWORK, $19.99 a month . . .
Are you ******* me?
For 12 ******* months?
AT&T;: whack me off on 120 channels.
DIRECTV.com - DIRECTV® Official Site‎
Worry-free 99.9%  . . . cue Joe E. Brown,
"Some Like It Hot“ Osgood:
"Well, nobody’s perfect!"
Time Warner/Sprint/T-Mobile;
And ******* Leather, Polk Street, San Francisco.
******* leather?
Must be for my neighbor: that ***** ****!
And here’s the weekly 8-page color fold-out from Stater Bros:
Lowering prices every day, large cantaloupes
(Jessica Lange, are you back?)
10 for $10.00, 32 oz. Gatorade
Or 24 oz Propel in 30 assorted varieties @ 79 cents
+ CRV: California Redemption Value?
Nice euphemistic cover-up for a TAX.
Nice, nice, very nice, CA elected state officials;
Nicely done, Sacramento.
Everywhere else in the country you get real money—
A fixed number of pennies, nickels, or dimes—
For your plastic bottles and aluminum cans.
But in California, the licensed recyclers
Get to pull the market price out of their *** each morning.
California Redemption Value?
What ******* genius government kleptocrat thought that one up? Conspiracy Alert: who gets all that CRV money?
And what are they doing with it?
Feeling plain, Jane?
Marinello Schools of Beauty, want you,
Offer you hands-on training in cosmetology,
Skin care esthetics, manicuring and vaginal deodorizing—
Just kidding, Babaloo.
Food tip for the Third World:
Never try to write poetry on an empty stomach.
Sizzler 6 oz juicy & succulent.
RENEGADE DEAL:
El Pollo Loco guacamole chicken sandwich,
Coupon free, small drink and small chips,
When you purchase a guacamole or jalapeno sandwich,
includes pepper jack cheese and a southwest sauce.
Gardenas sandia con semilla, 7 lbs 99 cents.
GARDENAS: “en precios, servicio y calidad, nadie nos iguaia.”
Bud Gordon’s Quality NISSAN:
One at this price after a $1500 factory rebate.
TERMINIX: get them before they get you!
The Kingdom Animalia, Phylum Arthropoda, Class Insecta
Bug up my *** again.
And a form letter from the VA
Asking me to please update my whereabouts.
And a form letter from the VA asking me
To please update my whereabouts.
And miles to go before I sleep.
Bite me, Mr. Frost!

An outing, at last.
I am going for a walk around the inside of my gates.
I live in one of those gated over-55 lunatic asylums.
There are gates. It is gated. Get it?
GATED! We feel safe here.
Probably a good thing at our age:
Self-imposed institutionalization,
Putting oneself in an asylum to ferment and die.
The fact that so many of us
Need it so bad at only 55
Says something itself about the current state of
Baby Boomer metal-fatigue.
I am now standing at the far end of the golf course.
I wait at the far end of the 18th Hole.
A ball bounces past my head and
Rolls off past the green into the far rough.
The 18th Hole is perched atop a small plateau,
Out of sight, far above the horizon for anyone teeing off.
I am Puck, invisible and impish.
I pluck the ball up.
I scamper to the green.
I pop the ball into the hole.
Which is better than popping a hole in the ball,
Surely, kind of a drag,
As we were once fond of saying.
Deflated Ball.
Deflator Maus.
OPERA can be ****.
Bodice-ripping corsets, whorehouses and naked ******!
Hardly what you might expect from
A night with the Welsh National Opera,
But they found their way into this production of "Die Fledermaus."
Ripe language, contemporary jokes and
Toilet humor thrown in, adding immensely
To the pleasures of Strauss’s operetta.
"Die Fledermaus," or The Bat’s Revenge,
Is all about drunkenness and adultery.
Despite being written in the 1870s,
It remains equally pertinent to today’s pub culture of excess.
Daring; Colorful; ****: PGA golf.
I steal a golf ball on the far end of the 18th Hole.
I pick up the Titleist and stick it in the hole
(Steady Jessica, not yours.
I hide behind your bush.
(Cue up PSA, First Lady Bird Johnson’s 1960s
Nationwide Beautification Campaign:
“I want everyone in America to plant a tree,
A sherrrr-rub, or a booosh.”)
The golfer now searching frantically:
Why is the cup always the last place they look?
Then, wham, bam, he looks:
A legend is born.
A hole in one,
His name forever immortalized
On a plaque over the bar, the proverbial 19th Hole.

As you know, I speak for all mediocrities,
Safe in my 55+ gated-community.
I go next to the Club House,
"The Lodge" as it’s called.
Each afternoon, the usual suspects
Claiming first come/first serve tiered mini-theater seats
Where Netflix matinee gems are screened.
It is two minutes to DVD show time.
I walk to the front of the room.
I stare at my audience.
I count the house slowly,
Making meaningful eye contact with each wrinkled face.
I cup my hands behind my back and speak:
“I assume you are all here for my lecture on Kierkegaard.”
No one reacts.
I turn to leave but do a double-take and smile.
One old woman in the top right corner of the amphitheater laughs, Perhaps the one other human being within the gates
Who has also smoked a joint today.
For an instant, I am overwhelmed with paranoia,
Perhaps I’ve gone too far over the line:
No longer “oh-he’s-a-character;”
I am now “that creep is ******* nuts.”
Is it time for someone to approach my family,
My next of kin, my “who-to-contact-in-event-of-emergency” number? Who will make the call on behalf of the HOA—
The Homeowner’s Association—
The Tsars, the Duma, the Supreme Soviet in these parts?
They are the power inside the gates;
Those who determine the state’s enemies,
Who govern its community norms.
Power within the gates.
Law within the asylum.
Little Hitlers one and all.
Hopefully they reach my sister first.
She’s been briefed.
KEY POINT IN THE NARRATIVE:
The new narrative is non-linear.
We can no longer sustain a narrative understanding of ourselves;
We are each an individual stream of consciousness,
All of us random, non-linear and disconnected.
We grow more and more disconnected from others.
We may be neighbors in space and time,
But we remain deprived of any significant human contact;
Any spiritually significant human contact.
Our social circle narrows to what can fit in The Telescreen;
We become more intimate with a legion . . .
Did someone say a legion? SPQR:
Am I having some sort of genetic-linguistic seizure here?
Am I channeling Benito Mussolini again?
Il Duce speaks to me from the grave,
Still blowing smoke up my Hopi-Jew-*** ***,
Filling in my insecurities,
Plugging the holes in my character
With delusions of classical Roman grandeur, glory and empire. Hmmmm? Quite an appetizing pitch for the average *****,
A message so completely, so ethnocentrically slick,
Olive oily, and so seductive.
A non-Italian would have thought
American Legion or Legionnaire’s disease,
Or The Foreign Legion, The French Foreign Legion.
The French: a virulent, promiscuous people.
Do you want fries with that, Simone?
No, I don’t get out much.
Only an occasional brisk walk around the asylum,
In and around the golf course, around but inside the gates. (LINKS) Bill Gates. Daryl Gates. Billy Bathgate’s Gates? Ghiberti’s Gates? The Hot Gates? Thermopylae? 300 Spartans/700 Thespians:
“The noun causing idiots to think of
Two girls sloppily eating each other’s mighty vaginas,
When they hear mention of someone being an actor.” http://www.urbandictionary.com
Not even close.
No, I rarely venture out.
This is Hemetucky.
There are methamphetamine-stoked
Teenage zombies at the gate.
Note to costume control:
Perhaps camouflage clothing is the safe choice?
No loud red Hawaiian.
No garish Indonesian batik.
Fleet of feet are these Hemet tweakers,
These cranked up Riverside County teenage barbarians,
These Huns & Visigoths,
These amped up, ravenous jackals.
And why stop there?
These Vandals & Vandellas.
A Motown flashback:
“Nowhere to run, baby, nowhere to hide.”
With or without Martha—
They remain dangerously lethal.
Yes, let it be camo clothes for me.
Those **** heads may be young.
They may be fast.
They may be able to run me down
On a dry grass dog-legged fairway savannah,
Tearing the meat from my carcass.
But the sons-a-******* have to see me first.
Besides, we know who are real friends are.
Hooray for our media peeps!
We become more intimate with a legion
Of television personalities on 125 different channels.
Most of these we know by name and context.
We know their families, their friends,
Their histories, their tragedies,
Their favored hyperbole and manner of speech.
Sometimes we establish intimacy with celebrities
Strictly on the basis of universal body language.
At times–in the absence of any other
Empathetic facility of identification–
We connect on instinct alone.
Instinct: perhaps animal at its core,
An animal kingdom affinity group,
Connecting on a bio-linguistic level,
Particularly when the Korean, or Spanish,
Mandarin, or Arabic,
Japanese, or even Hebrew language version is broadcast.
All languages cryptically alien,
A dense boundary, a barrio border wall,
Undecipherable, impenetrable concrete.
But we’ve never spoken to our neighbors,
Nor do we know their names.
Celebrities are the neighbors we know best;
Although the intimacy is an illusion,
Permission to invade their privacy presumed,
Tacit in the relationship between celebrities and their fans.
I am an independent contractor now,
An outside consultant to the NSA.
Try as I might I cannot crack the enigma,
Kim Kardashian remains far beyond my code-breaking prowess.
I repeat myself:
We can no longer sustain a narrative understanding of ourselves;
We are each an individual stream of consciousness,
All of us random, non-linear and disconnected.
We are more and more disconnected from others.
We may be neighbors in space and time,
But we remain deprived of any significant human contact;
Any spiritually significant human contact.
Our social circle narrows to what can fit in The Telescreen; we become more intimate with a legion . . .
Back to you, David Ulin:
“Sometime late last year—I don’t remember when, exactly—I noticed I was having trouble sitting down to read. That’s a problem if you do what I do, but it’s an even bigger problem if you’re the kind of person I am. Since I discovered reading, I have always been surrounded by stacks of books. I read my way through camp, school, nights, and weekends; when my girlfriend and I backpacked through Europe after college graduation, I had to buy a suitcase to accommodate the books I picked up along the way.”
Thank you, David L. Ulin.
I cannot help myself.
I grow more eccentric each day.
My eyeballs glued to that flat screen!

Cosmo Kramer: "The bus is outta control.
So I grab him by the collar, I take him out of the seat,
I get behind the wheel, and now I’m driving the bus."
Jerry: "Wow!"
George Costanza: "You’re Batman."
Cosmo Kramer: "Yeah, yeah, I am Batman.
Then the mugger, he comes to and he starts choking me.
So I’m fighting him off with one hand,
And I kept driving the bus with the other, ya know.
Then I managed to open up the door,
And I kicked him out the door, ya know,
With my foot, ya know, at the next stop."
Jerry: "You kept making all the stops?"
Cosmo Kramer: "Well, people kept ringing the bell!"
(Share this moment with a stranger.)

I speak for all mediocrities.
I am their champion, their patron saint.
Boom Chaka Laka. Boom Chaka Laka.
Boom Chaka Laka. BOOM!
Isn’t it time Salieri tempted Constanze–
Frau Mozart–with a plateful of Capezzoli di Venere:
“******* of Venus.”
You had me at hello, Kidman.
I know you too well, Nicole.
I knew you from before,
Way before Tom’s Oprah couch freak show.
Listen to me, Nicole:
We are face to face
With the most profound question in American literature:
"What is the grass?
The flag of my surrender?
The flag of my disposition?"
I resort to Socratic maxims: Know yourself;
The un-****** life is not worth living.
Is it stress? Is it lack of conviction?
Everything Jeff Lebowski neither wants nor needs in his life?
I watched you *** in "Eyes Wide Shut," Nicole.
Now I know you with my eyes and your legs wide open.
Thank you, Sidney Pollack.
Sidney knew.
Sidney dealt us cards
From his Hollywood Tarot deck.
We are intimate, Nicole.
I watched you squat.
Victor D López Apr 2019
Trust is earned slowly,
Over the course of one's life,
But lost in an instant.


____
I am grateful for the feedback our colleagues here were kind enough to leave (likes, loves, etc.). If anyone would like a free copy of the ebook version of my latest book of poems, Echoes of Dawn at Dusk: Collected Poems, Volume 2 you can download a copy in all ebook formats but only through one of my vendors, Smashwords -- no coupon necessary. Ends April 4, 2022. Just copy and paste the following link into your browser:
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Thanks again for sharing this poem and for your feedback. Much appreciated!
Mike Hauser Mar 2013
Over a cup of morning java
Scanning my daily mail
I came upon an advertisement sheet
That exclaimed in BOLD rainbow pastel

Grand opening of a store that has everything
On the corner of Daisy and William Tell
The one thing I saw that interested me
Is they were having a back to "60's"  Hippie sale

Of course I stopped what it was I was doing
Hopped in my Lexus and left right away
The excitement had my heart all in a flutter
This I guarantee is going to be a good day

They weren't kidding when they said they sold it all
I'd been wandering the store for quite a while
That's when I came to what it was I had come here for
Before me in trippy little colors, the hippie aisle

So I bought me a couple colorful hippies
With my 25% coupon I was able to save
The Hippies even  came with a bonus
Fresh cut flowers and Jefferson Airplane tapes

When I got home I showed them to their room
Black light posters and colored beads hung from the door
As luck would have it I bought an Indian hemp rug
From Pier One just the day before

They taught me transcendental meditation
While I taught them both how to bathe
Their lessons broadened the mind
My lessons the nostrils saved

I soon had a groovy little hippie pad
In which organic vegetables and enlightenment grew
We'd sit around crossed legged in a  purple haze at night
Playing psychedelic tunes on our Kazoo's
And I was pretty good too! Who Knew!

Yes, a house of happy hippies
Is a happy hippie house indeed
Especially when Wendy Crystal Sky...Yes, that's her name*
Brews her famous dandelion tea

I highly recommend the purchase of hippies
I couldn't be any happier with mine
Sure beats the punk rockers I got on close out last year
*But that my friend is another tale for another time...
anastasiad Dec 2016
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Christy Gee Aug 2011
I threw out his socks today.
Those ******* socks.
Long Black Nike Socks that went up to his calves.
Long Black Nike Socks that he wore with his Two Hundred Dollar
French Raw Denim Jeans because he needed the Short Black Nike Socks
To wear to work with his Khaki Dickies Shorts.
Black Nike Socks that he reminded me for months he "needed"
For his birthday in order to function properly.
Black Nike Socks that didn't cost enough to be considered
A sufficient birthday gift,
Along with some other cute things (I thought),
Including a homemade coupon for dinner at
Any restaurant of his choice.
Short Black Nike Socks whose thirty-dollar price tag
Wasn't quite up to par with the forty-dollar
Concert ticket his obviously-better-than-me friend had
So benevolently bought him.
Those ******* socks.
Amber Grey Jul 2013
I call my father's father Ye-Ye
because he is a traditionalist
and the word grandfather reminds him of England.

My mother calls him a selfish *******
because he never approved of her wallet's emptiness
and walked out of her wedding.

My father calls him an immature *****
because he throws temper tantrums at eighty-seven
and still doesn't respect anyone.

When I was five,
I stayed over alone for the first time.
I accused him of trying to poison me
because I found a dead fly in my soup.

When I was ten,
I found a coupon at the market
And got him a free box of Cheerios.

When I was thirteen,
I was sitting with him outside.
I got stung by a bee
and didn't say a word.

I have not seen my grandfather in seven years.

He has since almost died four times.

My aunt calls him a racist snob
because he refused to put my biracial cousin's picture on the mantle
and boasts of his friend's grandchildren instead.
Rhianecdote May 2015
You and I

Are like faded vouchers.

**No matter what they say

We are Redeemable
You can vouch(er) on that!
Nick Tyler Feb 2015
I'm a coupon shopper that's who I am
I shop for bargains and off name brands
Coupons Coupons Coupons Galore
I am the king of the grocery store!
Yet I do not have a queen

Because of my strange shopping spree
I shop for 1 and that 1 is me
Cause no one wants a man that's cheap
but my monthly budget I must keep

But in the back isles early one day
another bargain shopper glanced my way
Off brand purse and rip off shoes
She's a bargain shopper I must conclude

So I went over to where she stood
in the section of the canned goods
as our hands touched reaching for the fruit punch
I surprisingly  said "Do you wanna grab lunch?"
Drew Dec 2013
subway coupon
subway coupon
subway coupon

this repetition
everyday
every hour
continuously occurring

how can these people stand this
cycle
it is not even a cycle
it is not even a broken record
it is madness
it is like a infinite knock at the door
by someone who is life dependent upon entering
and won’t give up
just knock knock knock
knock knock knocking
knock it the **** out

city bus tour
city bus tour
city bus tour

this repetition
everyday
every hour
continuously occurring

ten ******* minutes of repeating the same phrase
over and over would drive me nuts
I have no idea to how there are those people
who stand outside all day
holding a sign
or
dressed in a gold suit and hat
waving to every other car
that drives by
and tipping his hat to the rest
the people must be insane
these people are insane
insane, insane, insane I tell ya
they drive me insane
by thinking that they do this every day
they are in desperate need

spare some change
spare some change
spare some change

this repetition
everyday
every hour
continuously occurring

there’s no challenge
there’s no difference
it is depressing to think that they sunk to that level
for a ****** wage
these people need help
more than help finding a new job
but psychological help
either they are so mentally strong they can handle it
or so mentally disturbed they know nothing but
how to pass out flyers, hold a sign or a cup

subway coupons
city bus tour
spare some change

*******

spare me the sadness
of having to hear you
more than once as I walk by

spare me the sadness
of knowing you do this every day
and will continue to every day

spare me the sadness
of thinking that some people
need to do that to make money

do I have to repeat myself?
Do you know how many times my mother coughs so hard in an hour that it still surprises me she hasn’t lost a lung?

I wonder if all the money that she spends at the gas station on that tiny cardboard box was saved instead of spent, if she could manage to pay the bills before the late notice arrived in the mail.

How many times do you think she tries to quiet the change being pushed around the tabletop as she counts out the quarters, the dimes, the nickels, the pennies before she has enough to slide the coins across the counter at the station?

How many times is her anger thrown at me because nicotine is absent from the house?

I can only imagine the color inside her chest, protecting her lungs with a black tar after too many years of flicking a flame to a thin white candlestick stuck between her lips.

The house smells of smoke and the yellow filter lines the walls, around the frames that hang themselves by nails.

I clean the mirror and see the paper towel golden from the lingering tobacco.  My clothes reek of a stench so strong no amount of perfume seems to be enough.

I’m paranoid that every time I’m in a room of people and someone mentions that it smells like smoke, if they know I harbor such a scent that I pour it off second handedly as if I inhale the drug too.

I open the mailbox and the temptation to “lose” the coupon booklet addressed to her grows stronger.

The business cards labeled with a barcode on the back subtracting a dollar off when you buy two packs strengthens the urge to scrabble up the silver coins or summons the question, “do you have five dollars? I’ll pay you back when I get paid on Friday.”

Friday never comes.

I often think about how much longer it will be until all the money spent on tiny cardboard boxes will be split between tobacco and medical bills.

How long can you smoke a pack a day and still be cancer-free?

And I wonder how it’s fair to watch your mother gamble with her life each time she places a thin cigarette between her lips.

Russian roulette with cancer is a game she’s become too good at.
feedback, opinions, ideas are appreciated and encouraged.
Andrew Parker Sep 2014
All I've Got is Maybe, if I Ain't Got You Babe Poem
9/16/2014

Maybe you spend your Sunday afternoons with a smile.
Maybe you take an extra hour to get out of bed in the morning.
Maybe you brush your teeth and put your toothbrush back down into that 4-slotted holder that just seems to look more full with a 2nd brush.
Maybe you go grocery shop once every few weeks to buy romantic things like checkered tablecloths, fresh flowers, and scented candles.
Maybe you run out of **** and condoms more frequently now that you're with him.

Maybe you've forgotten what my laugh sounds like.
Maybe you don't agonize over what outfit to wear out on a Friday night because I'm not around to care anymore.
Maybe you no longer get poems written about you, not that you ever knew.
Maybe now there aren't consequences for forgetting to text back within 2 days to messages like, "how are you, wanna grab a bite to eat?"
Maybe you don't miss swimming around the pool at 3am talking reminiscing about each other's past we didn't get to be a part of.

Maybe you could have spent a week this winter sick in bed and had me bring you soup after I finished studying.  
I'd tell you I bought it with a coupon and that the old-fashioned restaurant owner asked again if you were my brother or cousin because he didn't want to think you were my lover,
and of course you would laugh and laugh then cough and sneeze.

Maybe by now you would have formed a permanent imprint in the left side of my king-size mattress,
and picked out your favorite 5 pillows of the 15, rarely used - they look so dormant in that vacant lonely left side of my bed,
as if it had a wormhole that made it access:
a cold, limitless blackhole in outerspace.  

Maybe you wouldn't have kept using,
and felt like you needed to move to New York to escape.  
Instead you could have fled into my eyes,
that they say are the portal to the soul,
and let them gaze into yours as you'd make a steady embark to intertwine.

Maybe I wouldn't feel the need to immerse myself in academic studies and drinking at bars to keep as busy as possible,
because the one moment I allow myself to watch a romantic movie on Netflix,
I know I'll need to eat sodium-laden Chinese food to help me retain water so that I don't cry myself to sleep over you.

Maybe I wouldn't have had to bear my **** soul in front of an audience of about 35 people,
sharing the tragic afterthought of you in poetry form.

Maybe by now I would have figured out that...
Maybe you don't think about what maybe you could have had,
if maybe I could have had you babe.
JJ Hutton Feb 2013
coupon for Granny's Original 32% All Natural Oatmeal®
cart-to-cart down aisle 48 and this man's an affront to khakis
and this woman's brain runs off a child's complaints
BLIZZARD 2013
according to the radar, buy 80 pounds of rock salt
from The Home Depot®, more saving. more doing.™
more rock salt. more doing
BLIZZARD 2013
according to the radar, buy two-weeks-worth of tuna,
a pallet of Pepsi Max®, and four loaves of Baker Good's NeverMold Bread®
all for $21.99 with your Sam's Club® Rewards Card
BLIZZARD 2013
cart-to-cart down aisle 62 where once there was soda, now an I.O.U.
and I read on the internet that the preservatives in diet cola will keep
my body from decomposing and I read on the internet that these
dented, discount tuna cans will give me botulism
BLIZZARD 2013
one jug of water from a spring in Mountain View, Arkansas
one jug of water from a spring in New Iberia, Louisiana
picking between Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana
the pitter-patter on the warehouse roof reassures
time for eenie meenie miney mo
BLIZZARD 2013
and the intercom desperate for a cart wrangler
customer service now open for checkout
don't leave your toddlers alone in shopping carts
they're choking on free samples
with an echo, raindrops strike parking lot pools
just past the intersection an ambulance grumbles
BLIZZARD 2013
in a room with a view wishing the windowpane weatherized
beers bought by volume, candles forgotten, six months of
licorice, EverFluff® popcorn, and hand warmers of chemical kind
remembered
BLIZZARD 2013
will not be landing in the city, watch out for that rain though
if the temperatures drop below 32 degrees it could ice over
and if the temperatures don't, well, it won't

News 7's coverage of Blizzard 2013 brought to you by
The Home Depot®, more saving. More doing.™
and Sam's Club®, savings made simple.™
Laura Mankowski Apr 2014
Mail in your coupon to save a few bucks
Use the money to buy time off your sentence
Cutting out a coupon
Sure beats cutting up your soul
Send away for redemption
If you can find a stamp
Mail in redemption
The answer to salvation
Lies
On the box
Juhlhaus Jan 2019
The day of the site visit
I hurried out at six fifteen to wait
For a train with a waning moon,
Bright Venus and Jupiter hovering
Above the skyline. The amber horizon
Turned to orange and pink
As scattered stars went dim.

Misread the schedule and arrived
Downtown three quarters of an hour
Before my Electric District connection.
An accidental gift to self.
I ascended, ate two breakfast sandwiches
I got for one dollar with a coupon,
Warm in my hands on a blue picnic table.

The sky grew light
Above the Lake and I wandered
Through Millennium Park. It was empty
Or nearly, which felt the same.
The sun broke the bent horizon
In chrome and ice. I took some pictures,
Then descended to find Track Five.

The day's light revealed
Hollow houses with cartoon stone applied
Like paint, unable to compete
For preeminence with two-car garages.
The newest were bigger and offered
In different colors, but all the same.
Driving conditions were excellent.

At sunset I stood on another platform
Above a busy highway. The last rays came
Through tree branches and melted
Into the pale sky as they left my face.
I had witnessed that sun's birth,
It had warmed me while I waited for my carpool,
Rested with me on a concrete planter after lunch.

I entered the city in darkness
A second time. Changed muddy boots
For clean shoes and hurried to the museum.
It was a free night, overcrowded
With families and children, so difficult
To find a quiet corner for contemplation,
Any sanctuary for my own small soul.

I descended, discovered the typewriters, then
Realized you and I were already there, just
In different colors, using different words,
Spending school vacation to view old paintings
And the Holiday Miniature Rooms.
It dawned and the future was brighter even
As I left the city in darkness.
For a wonderful fellow poet who reminds me that there is no such thing as an ordinary day.
Hunger and Desire grew
'til bellies everywhere were
ruined for sustenance,
so in went the troops to wage
war against ideas and
when they arrived there were no
soldiers to speak of

so they set up tents
and didn't go away

they sang drunken war-songs
until the moan of starvation bellies
sang louder and more terribly

"That must have been them
the whole time!" they said, and
suited up for the charge.
So they trained their shells at the city
excited to see if target practice
had done them any good

but all they did was mortar themselves to bits

squadrons of video-game experts
sent drones overhead to drop
Hallmark cards titled "Why it's your fault"
and coupon booklets for American
chain shopping outlets to come

but they only marginalized
and condescended themselves

"Bring in the reinforcements!"
they cried, even conscripting
their hapless targets. This mob,
too, was a hungry belly
bellowing for satisfaction,
a cannibal ***
simmering

So they set up tables and stacked
boring paperwork, filing away
spirits broken by shrapnel and white
phosphorus

but they only resigned themselves
to imaginary lines and the plunder
of Control, insensibly
****** themselves to death

while they watched,
perplexed.
“Two things are infinite:
the universe and human stupidity;
and I'm not sure about the universe.”
― Albert Einstein
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2019
Oh Eliot, Poor Eliot, Your Fans Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad^

<>
we tithed thee with donations plenty,
here a dollar, there a fiver, a coupon for free chips,
worthy of somebody’s eternal gratitude,
that would be you,
da Duke, Duke of York

the largest online free poetry site,
a million visitors a day, why you must be
the richest poet online billionaire, right?
you,
da Duke, Duke of York and

occasional poet...

in return, all we occasional poets demand
steady on instant access, immediate satisfaction,
after all, a part time job deserves your bestus-best,
just like every other large online site, that never crashes,
we’re not like just the rest, we are
p o e t s,
occasionally

so keep the servers engines, well stoked with Newcastle coal,
keep them up and running round the clock,
using only alternative energy,
of the unceasing sun light of merry old England!

quit that other job, you must,
instead of giving up on us,
give in to us,
a poetry break, a writing recharge,
though please add a limited liability
clause to the FAQ’s,
that poets’ lives must deal with the hiccup
occasional

you, da Duke, Duke of York,
newly now, an appointment royale as Major General,^^
you, the very model of a modern major general
possessing information vegetable, animal, mineral and
technical,
who knows the Queens  of England, who,
maybe even now is telling tales of your heroics with the hordes of
hysterical
occasional
poetical
globalists
demanding
light brigadests
charging the redoubt

and
when you have a moment spare,
a haircut, please.

no, that is not a request,
naturally

<>

10/19/19
Noontime NYC
natalino
^^Messers Gilbert and Sullivan

^ Oh Dad, Poor Dad,
Hung You In The Closet and I’m Feeling So Sad
By Arthur Kopit
Jonathan
Well, I made it out of lenses and tubing. The lenses I had because Ma-Ma-Mother gave me a set of lenses so I could see my stamps better. I have a fabulous collection of stamps, as well as a fantastic collection of coins and a simply unbelievable collection of books. Well sir, Ma-Ma-Mother gave me these lenses so I could see my stamps better. She suspected that some were fake so she gave me the lenses so I might be...able to see. You see? Well sir, I happen to have nearly a billion sta-stamps. So far I’ve looked closely at 1,352,769. I’ve discovered three actual fakes! Number 1,352,767 was a fake. Number1,352,768 was a fake, and number 1,352,769 was a fake. They were stuck together. Ma-Mother made me feed them im-mediately to her fly –traps. Well... (He whispers.) one day, when Mother wasn’t looking...that is, when she was out, I heard an air-plane flying...somewhere, far away. And I ran outside to the porch so that JI might see what it looked like. The airplane. With hundreds of people inside it. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people. And I thought to myself, if I could just see...if I could just see what they looked like, the people, sitting at their windows looking out...and flying. If I Could see...just once...if I could see just once what they looked like...then I might...know what I-what I... (Slight pause.) So I...built a telescope in case the plane ever...came back again. The tubing from and old blowgun (He reaches behind the bureau and produces a huge blowgun, easily a foot larger than he Mother brought back from her last hunting trip to Zanzibar. The lenses were the lenses she had given me for my stamp. So I built it. My telescope. A telescope so I might be able to see. And... (He walks out to the porch.) and...and I could see! I could! I COULD! I really could. For miles and miles I could see. For miles and miles and miles! Only...
You take the time to build a telescope that can sa-see for miles, then there’s nothing out there to see. MA-Mother says it’s a lesson in Life. [Pause] But I’m not sorry I built my telescope. And you know why? Because, I saw you. Even if I didn’t see anything else, I did see you. And...and I’m...very glad.
Typed by: Jeremy Mash 2-16-06
Dane Perczak Dec 2013
I tighten the knot on
My tie
I brush the shoulders off
On my jacket
And rap to it
This interview should be better
Than the last one.
I'm hoping the manager
Will realize I've been a loyal
Safeway customer since
As long as I can remember
I swallow the pinball
In my throat
Hatched from
Nervousness
Or
Nervousity
Or
Nervousonification
Or, I don't know
I'm nervous.

For some reason he shuts
The blinds, this is more
Serious than I thought
I suppose.
I sit frozen in my chair
Like the Lincoln Memorial
Except I don't stand for anything.

I step out into the warmth of
The real world
I grab a brick and throw it
Through the front wall of glass
Protecting the grocery shoppers
From the sun
I stop over at the cafe
For a milkshake
Strawberry
I went to a different store
To get the laundry detergent
She told me to get
Because we had a coupon
But I forgot the coupon
So I just went home

It was a busy day today.
JP Jan 2016
Shopping was the world first invitation to women,
a freedom to move out of her house. Initially,
Woman practiced shopping for vegetables and slowly
extended to garments/jewelry/white goods etc. Today,
the world has experiencing a better market due to
window shopping. The concept innovated by women,
the women who started window shopping has helped
the awareness of the market, The more the window shopping,
more the sales. The concept of window shopping  
helped the textile industries to understand about their products.
The textile industries has developed in terms of marketing
say readymade, exchangeable, trial rooms, gifts coupons
are coz of women. Its encouraged the women to do
shopping effectively.

Facts about shopping. Customer who shop with their friends
tend to buy more costly products than when they shop alone.
Next, In terms of clothing, General advises is to buy
one garment at a time coz If you buy few dresses, You tend the use
the first selected dress more than the others. Buying 'Take Away'
in (costly) restaurant was the blinder coz restaurant charge more
for the ambience less for the food. Using cash on shopping,
you tend to spend less and you bargain more. Don't increase
your buying to eligible for discount coupon.  A survey says
that 90% of the issued discount coupons are never redeemed.
Never shop on Discount Sale coz the best collection will be
taken off the shelf by the shopkeeper. The amazing fact,
If any one buy the best and costly clothes one size less than
the one normally uses, has brought down the weight
of that person.
b e mccomb May 2023
it's four pm sunday afternoon
and in an unforeseen
turn of events
i'm awake

guess i've slept so long
i couldn't nap away
one more
afternoon

remembering how on friday
waiting at the bus stop
a library employee
walked up to me and said

"would you
like a poem?"
and handed me
a note card

and on it was printed
a poem
and a reminder that
april was national poetry month

it reminded me
what i've known for far too long

that there are words inside me
clawing tooth and nail

trying to get out
and i have to let them

so today it's
sunday afternoon
and i'm thinking about how
sunday afternooons
aren't what
they used to be

they started out in
the backseat of a
blue dodge van
crammed between my brothers
npr on the radio
i hated car talk
but loved to hear the way
my dad laughed at what
couldn’t possibly be jokes
not since it wasn’t funny

but after car talk came
prairie home companion
garrison keillor's gravel
serenade of life in
lake woebegone
static bluegrass
the drama
of guy noir
the hilarity of
tom keith and fred newman
playing ping pong with
airplanes dive bombing overhead

winding up around the lake
through the corn fields
until we got
to grandma’s house

afternoons turned into
evenings and i would fall
asleep in the backseat
on the way home
staring upside down out the
window at the incandescent
orange street lights
barely bright enough to cast more
light than the stars
treetops dissolving into the dark sky

i always thought it was
fascinating how it everything
looked different from that
angle in the dark

sunday afternoons turned into
dashing around
the church grounds
unattended
picking up deer bones in the
back lot and throwing them
into the pond
eventually removing screens
from windows and
climbing out onto the roof

we got older
turned into teenagers
lazy summer days
a memory so
soaked in sugary
pink lemonade mix
i can't help but scrape my teeth
remembering the taste of
citric acid and innocence

how we thought we were
so grown up
but i'd give anything to be
that kid again

i wish we’d gone
on more trips to the mall
before the shops were dead husks
a fallen ozymandias
to the promise of capitalism
when there were shoe stores
and book stores and a
radio shack and a gertrude hawk

we would spend ages in the
bath and body works
smelling and calculating
how much body spray
we had to buy between ourselves
to get the most out of our coupon
exchanging the bills and bottles
in the food court across from the sears
years and years
before it would become a post
apocalyptic vaccination center of
folding chairs and masked queues

before i lost them
to the split paths
adulthood takes
us all down

i wish i'd known what
i know now
that no matter how bad
it feels in my own head
it's never a death sentence
it will come and go

i wish i’d known
that none of it would last

sunday afternoons
the in-between
washing my hair
while my friends
went with my parents
to church

i don't go to church
don't think i ever will again
even though i wonder
if the sense of community would help

it's sunday afternoon
but it's not how sunday
afternoons used to be
with johnny cash on a loop
as i lost myself in
empty cardboard boxes
straight lines of
dusty wine bottles
shattered pints of
gin on gritty concrete

sunday morning
coming down
but it never felt like
coming down
it felt as close to peace
and quiet as i could get

sunday afternoons
turned to hazy piles of
navy duvet and
dr teals scented sheets
but i can’t do that anymore
i’ve wasted enough time
trying to sleep out
my own thoughts

so i'm trying to
let myself remember
let the words out
one afternoon at a time

something about this
sunday afternoon
feels like how
they used to be

an indigo country playlist
on the tv
all alone
with my herbal tea
the candle burning is
lilac and violet
i'm starting to think
i could find a way to heal

i'm not writing this poem
for it to be good
i'm writing it because if i don't
i might slip down with
the raindrops into the drainage grate
never to be seen again

i have to let my past
wrap itself into my future
or i'll lose the parts of
myself that brought me to here

there’s something about
having the window open
while it rains that tells me
it’s going to be all right
something about how the
library bells still ring
just off the hour
that reminds me

how time passes
how sunday afternoons
have changed
and i’m sure they
will change again soon
and what a relief that is
copyright 4/30/23 by b. e. mccomb
Alice Butler Nov 2013
There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, *****, cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-******-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
Seriously considering sending this to my local grocery store.
There are teeth in my ears

Chewing and swallowing

Grinding when I’m sleeping

To digest everything I hear



There’s a tongue in my eyes

I lick at you from across the room

It all tastes like your smile

Your hand, your hair, your thighs



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



You were a child when I saw you last

When you thought you were alone with him

If the water under the bridge is passed

Then why can’t you seem to find ways to sink or swim

He’s just a ******* just waiting to happen

You’re a coupon kitten stranded out on a limb

It’s the surest sign that you need to be alone at last

But I just can’t sit by and let allegory do you in

You were a child when I saw you last

And you will be a child when I see you again



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



There are nails in your boredom

Rusting and creaking

Holding fast while you’re awake

Pay your dues as long as you can afford them



There are coffins in your mind

You keep your dead thoughts lying there

They are all pale like your smile

Your hands, your hair, and your thighs



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them



You were a child when I saw you last

When you thought you were alone with him

If the water under the bridge is passed

Then why can’t you seem to find ways to sink or swim

He’s just a ******* just waiting to happen

You’re a coupon kitten stranded out on a limb

It’s the surest sign that you need to be alone at last

But I just can’t sit by and let allegory do you in

You were a child when I saw you last

And you will be a child when I see you again



Your scars keep bad omens away

…and I am one of them
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2022
i've just been exercising, cycling like a demon for almost two hours, passed the Gallows Corner roundabout twice, heavy traffic, i just can't keep away from the thrill of being lodged between moving objects that might **** me... the closer i am to death, the closer i am to life, which is sort of paradoxical; sort of: a memory best kept alive, by mortality per se...

if this be "capitalism" then i must be a *******
****** - sorry - what's that etymological
fallacy i hear concerning the word: Slav?
oh, right... a missing epsilon / eta...
i never know the difference between the two...
perhaps the clue is in the word: between
itself... epsilon is a long E while
eta is a short E...
******* get over it... ****** this ***** that...
i must be a ******* whigger by now...
the etymological origin of the word Slav
was derived from Slave? really...
perhaps you're referring to my distant cousins
that settled in the Balkans...
sure, the Yugoslavs might have been
enslaved by the Turks...
but if i remember correctly and i do know my
history, since i'm sort of tattooed with it...
the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth fought
back against the Ottoman onslaught...
apparently we managed to salvage Vienna...
such etymological laziness...
but what's to be expected...
in English ****- is insulting, oh sure sure...
esp. for the police force in ******* Rotherham...
sensitive little *****!
no... way better: KOONTZ!
a bit like a bite off: it could be ****... but no:
it's SH'ITE! here... fly my ******* kite!
the etymological of anything: ask the people who
refer to themselves as Slavs...
i.e. słowianin... root? słowo - word...
we are wordsmiths... how many Slavs have
actually been acknowledged by those northern
cultural Cyclops(es) that the Swedes are
(not my words, ref. to the Norwegian
Knausgaard)...
suede - suedes - persuasion sort of bollocking...
yeah... sure, thanks for the Deluge...
thanks for the harangue of Częstochowa...
(często? frequently chowa? hides...
je? them - feminine plural - chowa -
that ******* monstrosity that became the noun
Jehovah... he who hides women)
so yeah, how many Slavs have won the Nobel
prize for literature, compared to...
a German... an Englishman... hmm...
i'm not keeping score, but i know of a few...
if the English expect to take up etymology on their
on ground, using their own language...
ha ha, ******* still think they are the extension
of the Roman Empire...
all over European people have applied their
own diacritical distinctions to the alphabet...
whether that's the German umlaut or the French cedilla...
the Czech caron... blah blah etc.
but not the English... here's where i tell the Gaels
to start speaking their own, ******* tongue...
(god bless the persistence of the Welsh)
let's leave English with ol' Yankee
and rich Chinese tourists...
                    no... i've just been cycling... did 100 push-ups
lifted some weights...
and now? my mind is refreshed...
let's start the new year with the following
resolution...
   so i cycle up to a supermarket... oh, good...
they still have the Saturday edition of The Times...
i'm a subscriber so i have a discount
ergo i have a coupon...
   so i walk up to the cashier... she scans the newspaper,
then scans the coupon... no good...
she asks me for my Tesco club-card...
no good...
  - it's not coming through... something's wrong...
- today's the 1st of Jan, isn't it?
the coupon reads the 1st of Jan, no?
- yes...
- well then, that's not my problem,
your company can take up the argument
with The Times: whether or not they're printing
false coupons... but... i'm taking this newspaper...
whether you like it, or not...
- but, but...
-  NO.

so i just walked out with the newspaper,
she had the coupon,
outside i was taking off my bicycle-lock while
she was knocking on the window...
did i look up?
i just figured... now... catch me if you can....
subsequently ****** off towards Rainham
then Hornchurch then home...

that's my New Year's Resolution...
telling people: NO
period, the end, no thank you, *******,
bye bye.
            
why? i was supposed to be paid for 5 shifts on
the 31st of December, so, yesterday,
i even received a confirmation text to comfort me
that i'd be paid: i wanted to pay off my mother
for past dues...
it's a ritual: pay off your debts in the year about
to close rather than drag them into the new year...
so? ahem: "capitalism"?
for the few & the crooks...
you want to work, in earnest...
i'm not even going to listen to the ******* excuse:
ooh... "grammatical" error... filing error...
paperwork: fiddly...

too many ******* paperclips, eh?!
i'm so teasing the thought of attempting to **** someone...
no, not **** someone...
just walk up to someone in a street
with a knife, bear-hug them, sit them down
with the blade at their throat...
then ask a witness to call the police...
why, Matthew, why would you do something
like that?
you think not getting paid, being taken for
a ******* whigger is, nice?! the "right" thing
to be taken for?

  get over the extra G... you can say Niger...
you can say Nigerian... but what, giggle?!
that's too far?
               people pushed too many of the right
sort of buttons in the past late...
i'm going to gatecrash this year...
riddle? that's a double-D... bundle of what?!
in writing i can be anything i want to be...
like i can be caged with a Nigerian at the Oxford
stadium turnstiles and he'll come out
with a joke: ha ha... almost like a Nigerian prison...
and i'd joke back: yeah... sleep standing up
strapped to the ceiling...

it's always these 3rd party "aggravated"
the people that are not part of the conversation,
the busy-bodies that want to be at the centre
of almost everything!
the types that say: oh, me and my black friends...
what black friends?!
i had black schoolmates, i had a Jamaican marijuana
dealer who pushed me his rap record
while i listened to his mad ranting about
the Illuminati and seeing the face of Jesus in
a cloud at night, who wanted me to teach
his girl to play the guitar...
and now this Nigerian coworker...
                         am i supposed to be ******* friends
with people on a racial quota?!
do i ******* look like an interracial advert cuck?!

i've just been exercising... mein gott!
how refreshing... i need to get more of this stuff!
my mind is doing miracles on my well-being!

this is the year: i start say NO
to people, this is the year i apply the lesson i learned
from having met Dan...
my "supervisor"... for how long?
depends on whether i get paid...
2022... time to become a proper **** in real life;
i'll be nice... but only when i feel like it;
ooh... FEELZ., i like that very much.

p.s. 502 bad gateway bypass,
title: pardon pardon
body: meister meister: hersch.
Mike Hauser Apr 2015
Over a cup of morning java
Scanning my daily mail
I came upon an advertisement sheet
That exclaimed in BOLD rainbow pastel

Grand opening of a store that has everything
On the corner of Daisy and William Tell
The one thing I saw that interested me
Is they were having a back to "60's"  Hippie sale

Of course I stopped what it was I was doing
Hopped in my Lexus and left right away
The excitement had my heart all in a flutter
This I guarantee is going to be a good day

They weren't kidding when they said they sold it all
I'd been wandering the store for quite a while
That's when I came to what it was I had come here for
Before me in trippy little colors, the hippie aisle

So I bought me a couple colorful hippies
With my 25% coupon I was able to save
The Hippies even  came with a bonus
Fresh cut flowers and Jefferson Airplane tapes

When I got home I showed them to their room
Black light posters and colored beads hung from the door
As luck would have it I bought an Indian hemp rug
From Pier One just the day before

They taught me transcendental meditation
While I taught them both how to bathe
Their lessons broadened the mind
My lessons the nostrils saved

I soon had a groovy little hippie pad
In which organic vegetables and enlightenment grew
We'd sit around crossed legged in a  purple haze at night
Playing psychedelic tunes on our Kazoo's
And I was pretty good too! Who Knew!

Yes, a house of happy hippies
Is a happy hippie house indeed
Especially when Wendy Crystal Sky...Yes, that's her name
Brews her famous dandelion tea

I highly recommend the purchase of hippies
I couldn't be any happier with mine
Sure beats the punk rockers I got on close out last year
But that my friend is another tale for another time...
Had a request to pull this out of the basement, dust it off, and put it on the shelf...
Something fun! My apologies to all the Hippies out there!
Wk kortas Feb 2018
Once (not that long ago, perhaps, though we likely know better)
The summers were languid, liquid things without end
Each day fully equipped with a high sky,
The blue so all-encompassing, so all consuming,
That lazy fly ***** seemed to disappear
As if God had scooped them up like so many routine grounders.
We played, in a field long since abandoned
To crownvetch and scrub grass,
Twenty one--five points for those *****
The celestial powers had bobbled
And we were able to catch on the fly,
Three points if we took it on the hop,
One if we safely trapped it before it rolled stone dead,
And so our Julys and Augusts fluttered by,
Every bit lazy and aimless as butterflies or knuckleballs,
With the exception of the de riguer tribunals
In which the assembled debated and determined
Where bounce ended and roll began,
Where shoestring catch was reduced to single-point trap.

It all came to an end, of course;
At some point, we crossed a line
(Undelineated but firmly established nonetheless)
Where it was no longer advisable to attempt this at home,
Mere joy no longer an acceptable substitute for proficiency.
Find something else to do, kid, we were told,
And the bats went to the back of the closet,
The gloves and ***** consigned to a spot
(Where we would surely remember to find them)
Behind some canned tuna and Christmas lights,
The fastball blurring by us now,
The field a warren of subdevelopments and cul-de-sacs.

And so you’d forgotten,
Or perhaps just suppressed, the whole notion;
There were, after all, a gaggle of coupon books
With return addresses from an ever-changing confusion of banks,
Sales on pasta and milk, other fees and foundations
Politely requesting ones attention,
So you couldn’t be sure
That it was really the crack of an old thick-handled Adirondack,
Or the comforting thwick of the ball landing squarely
In the pocket of a Wilson A-2000,
Yet when you wandered to the window and peered out,
There they were, looking straight up at you,
Waving their hands like childlike Prosperos
Gesturing to reveal some fairytale glen.  
Come on back, they are saying, and you go down,
Powerless to resist, even if you had wanted to,
Returned instantly, seamlessly to a time and place
Where a shout of I got it! I got it!
Was all the prerequisite or vitae that was required,
And you are unable to bring even mock-edginess to your voice
When you insist I got that cleanly on the hop.  That’s three points.
The Great American Game is back in Florida and Arizona--not that it ever actually left.
em Jan 2013
I found the perfect pair of blue jeans once
I was 12 years old
They hugged my adolescent body
Until I was 13 and a half
And my body started to change

Tiny layers of fat creeped up on me
Laying on my thighs and my bottom and my hips
Making my body into a woman’s

You see, I am cursed with curves and tiny ankles
While my thighs and my bottom and my hips changed
My ankles remained the same

Petite
Frail
Bony

It has become impossible to find
The perfect pair of blue jeans

I would come close
Hugging my hips with grace
Encasing my thighs with elegance
Even closing to embrace my calves
The denim fabric reached my ankles
And became baggy, oversized

I gave up
I bought three pairs of the same style that almost fit
Until yesterday

I came upon a coupon
And so I went shopping
In an unfamiliar store
And I tried on a pair of blue jeans

They hugged my hips with grace
They encased my thighs with elegance
They closed to embrace my calves
And when the denim fabric came to an end
And the final stitches held the jeans together
My ankles were not drowned in thick denim

They were petite
Frail
Bony
But they had found the perfect pair of blue jeans
Coffee in the morning?
I chose French Vanilla.

No coupon, no discount
Even if a daily customer.

I'm not complaining,
It could have been Starbucks

I saved a dollar or two,
Buying from college.
My advice to fellow geezers?
Just say **** it!
“Roll up to the magical mystery tour!”
Just like John & Yoko!
Smoke a big fat doobie each morning.
Step out the Hogan door, just greet
The East and walk in beauty.
After a few weeks you just won’t
Give a **** anymore; just not give a ****
In general, no longer care about what’s
Not important: The Guv’ment.
Politics. The rate of unemployment.
Inflation. Even radical, freaking
Muslim Jihadist TERROR!
Yes.  Just light up, Babaloo,
Do one’s bit for the Decline &
Fall (dropped you, didn’t I?)
Let’s mourn the dying ***** goddess.
America: that shining city on a hill,
Colombia in all her senility, insolvency &
Not even D or I, just Lusions of grandeur.
Let us contemplate the decrepitude,
The crumbling, up-in-smoke spiritual infrastructure,
The USA: the United ****'s-Creek of America,
Going down, down, down . . . ALERT!
NEWS FLASH! It’s Rome & Great Britain,
It’s the update, the demise of Empire all over again.
I remember those sorry-***, pathetic Brits,
Met them all over while hitchhiking around
Europe, an intensive, closely observed tour of duty
Abroad: a gift to myself, in fact a scholarship,
I rigged for myself back in the early ‘70s.
Going abroad: once a reserved right of passage for certain,
Privileged children of the 1890s, lucky spawn from
Families known as the “Well-to-do.” And why not add:
Dubbed the “Mauve Decade" because William Henry Perkin’s
Aniline dye allowed widespread use of that color in fashion.
The "Gay Nineties,” referring to a time not of buggery, but
Merriment & optimism, & lest we forget, Twain’s “Gilded Age.”
Got the time, spare a dime, got the freaking time-frame, Mack?
It was a dark & stormy total eclipse of Jupiter.
Spiritually speaking, I was free-floating.
And what of those same-self, sad-assed &
Sorry, pathetic Brits?
Well, consider the specific years.
Experience in Europe in my early 20s,
Meant 1972, 1973 & 1974.
Surely, a time for English disillusionment,
What with the sun finally setting,
A vague, prismatic twilight time,
A virtual requiem for His or Her Majesty’s Empire,
“Rule, Britannia ... Britannia rule the waves.”
(Cue ruffles & flourishes, fifes & flugelhorns)
This was pre-North Sea Oil Bonanza days.
This was England before Mrs. Thatcher
Gave her good people a long overdue,
Richly deserved kick in the tuchas.
“The Iron Lady” they called her.
Stopped Orwell’s future, doornail dead, she did.
“Maggie’s Miracle” they called it.

Those Brits I met & knew back then,
Those “Used-to-be-Contender” types:
Self-deprecatory, apologetic & cynical,
Mocking the Union Jack,
Shedding salty tears for Lost Empire.
“This blessed plot, this earth,
This realm, this England.”
Ironic & bitter to a man,
“Gulping gin & bitters later,” observes
Current tenant occupier, 221B Baker Street,
Sherlock finding the word at last,
The definitive literary term,
That one precise mot juste, that says it all.
In a word? Sardonic.
The USA is going down, down down—
“And away goes trouble down the drain!”

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That’s right: $KA-CHING$!
An ad right in the middle of a ******* poem!
Always the sensible poet, I kept my day job.
But now in my 60’s finally figuring out:
HOW TO MAKE POETRY PAY?
Bow down to Adam Smith & Ricardo—
Not the ‘Splaine me, Cuban bandleader
Of that surname, but David, the classical economist,
The “Iron Law of Wages” guy
It’s time to make money.
Call in the Madmen.
Send in the clowns.

Mad Men – AMC - AMC.com www.amc.com/shows/mad-men Official site for AMC's award-winning series Mad Men: Games, making-of videos, plus episode & character guides.

$KA-CHING$! $KA-CHING$!

And Dan Draper: an alcoholic, chain-smoking,
***** magnet & Korean War ****-up, shifty
Name-changer, last seen at that Big Sur ashram,
The Esalen Retreat & Jingle Inspiration Center,
**** Whitman coming clean, at last:
Hovering a foot off the ground
In the lotus position, receiving **** *** from a
Coke bottle incarnation of Vishnu.

Search Results I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony ... https://en.wikipedia.org/I'dLiketoTeachtheWorld . . . Wikipedia "I'd Like to teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony)" is a popular song that originated as the jingle "Buy the World a Coke" in the groundbreaking 1971 ... Writer(s)‎ ‎Jon Hamm AKA Dan Draper; ‎Label‎: Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce.

Money: FUNGIBLE GREEN.
$KA-CHING$!

Those once sardonic Brits,
Now have Brooklyn accents.
We’re going down the drain, Babaloo!
The barbarians are at the gates,
A horde of hunger, a ******* rabble,
Green-eyed monsters, envying America’s poor,
Craving what little Uncle Sam’s indigenous poor have left,
Ragtag migrants, short, dark compañeros,
Swarthy Huns & Visigoths,
Whitman's last yawp, the last gasp breath of
Work Ethos, be it Protestant or Papist,
A colossal mélange of famine, hope & prayer,
The usual suspects: “Your tired, your poor,
Your wretched refuse & solid waste,
Your huddled, yearning masses.”
My advice to Emma--Sephardic-Ashkenazi,
Proto-Zionist, years before Herzl:
Get yourself a nightclub act, Ms. Lazarus.

America: I am hidden in a high grass savannah,
I watch the hyenas pick your carcass clean.
Adam Smith: he displaced the term greed--
Smacking as it does of deadly sin baggage—
Replaced the term Greed with Self-Interest.
And the only invisible hand I know of is
Down my pants, jerking me off,
Mesmerized by slogans, divine metaphors, like:
“A rising tide lifts all boats,” a Big Lie, for example.
Today’s economists call it “The Multiplier Effect.”
You pay me and I pay him & he pays he or she,
Merry Goes Round, Goes Round & Round the Merry-Ground.
All is just so cool & groovy,
Life is just a copacetic bowl of copacetic until
Some self-interested ****-*** decides to export
Your ******* job right out of the country:
Casus belli? Most certainly. Class warfare,
Always our hitherto history.
It’s not like that fat slob Michael Moore never warned us.

**Roger & Me (1989) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0098213/ Internet Movie Database  Rating: 7.5/10 - ‎22,470 votes Director Michael Moore pursues GM CEO Roger Smith to confront him about the harm ... Roger & Me -- Michael Moore's controversial but popular film is a highly ... Plot Summary - ‎Quotes - ‎Trivia - ‎Awards
stéphane noir Jun 2014
say for example,
that you love to play baseball.
[it is your favorite thing in the world,
and you're quite good at it, too].
and before your game,
your coach says to the team,
"if we win, i'll take everybody to Pizza Hut!"
upon hearing this, the players' faces light up-
each one can taste the delicious stuffed crust that awaits them,
and visions of breadsticks dance through their heads.
the coach even brought a coupon book to allude to their possible futures...
just before the team takes the field,
the coach pulls you aside
and says,
"actually, i'm going to take the whole team to Pizza Hut
even if we lose."
well, you would know right then
that outcome of the game
is irrelevant,
but the true joy of playing
comes from competition regardless of winning or losing,
so you vow to play your best game ever.
however, everyone else on the team,
not knowing the ultimate truth,
will play very seriously,
but with great anxiety and nervousness.
they desperately want Pizza Hut,
but know that they might not getting it.
this game is the most important thing in the universe,
and it is the most serious test of all time.
every at-bat is tense for them,
each fly ball could result in ultimate damnation.
nothing is fun.
with tension and anxiety,
they strike out, play conservatively,
and don't take the risks that make the game enjoyable.
quickly, the team finds itself trailing by a few runs,
and sweating profusely because of it.

you, on the other hand,
would feel more relaxed during the game.
you would swing for the fences,
knocking a couple out of the park,
steal a base or two,
make a diving catch.
play your best game ever.
you can do this comfortably
because you realize that you're just playing for fun.
you're going to Pizza Hut after game, whatever the outcome!

soon, in your exuberance,
you'd let slip the secret to a couple other players.
you'd tell them, "guys, we were always going to Pizza Hut,
let's just have some fun while we play this game."
most of them rejoice!
[a couple real serious ones doubt you and resent you.
you'd surely smile, bend a knee, and applaud their solemnity.]
but in your state of joy you include the doubters,
and you let them believe what they will until the final innings over.
you think, they'll wake up soon enough.

with the last out made
and the last run scored,
maybe you look at the scoreboard and see yourself in the lead,
maybe you are a few runs behind,
but the smile on the coach's face says it all:
the peace and joy within you brought into your world happiness...

... and a large pepperoni pizza.
knowing what you know now, will you enjoy the game?
You were always
a bit of backward
but your small, fuzzy grins
came cheap and easy.

We never guessed
they'd change the rules
so fast.

Salvation might have come
in coupon form,
and dolled-up pretty—
some say better than new—
we could have shared
old games, odd romance,
a few more laughs.

But I let that last chance slip,
and now a brick,
you're going gently onto
the back-alley *******
heaped in the middle of the night.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
At a streetfair downtown
A 5-dollar coupon in hand
We used to buy a skinny tree
Potted up in an old rusty can

It may have looked less than promising
So leggy and light as a feather
Tentatively thought did it have roots?
Our first purchase we made together

We planted our tree in the yard
That spindly gumbo-limbo
But native to our Florida
It knew just how to grow

Just like I’d envisioned its shade
A canopy against fierce heat
Protecting us from that relentless sun
It’s now grown twenty-five feet

Six years have passed us by now
And risking sounding sappy
We’ve grown, too, as has our love
The tree and we are happy
JJ Hutton Feb 2014
She places her book, marked with
a coupon I've been meaning to use,
on the nightstand. She turns the light
out on her side. It's her side, her light.
The left side is mine.

Night.

Night.

We're past clutching love. We're
not married, but I think I know
what it means. It's two lonely
people; it's two sides of the bed.
It doesn't take her long to fall asleep.
I watch her forehead unwrinkle.
I listen as her inhales and exhales
become spaced and even. At this moment,
I do not know her. She's not a woman.
All the inviting curves collapse. She is
a girl breathing in, breathing out.

In a memory she related to me--I think
she related to me--she asks a boy to give her
a turn on a swing. It's toward the end of recess.
She has waited. He says no. This is my swing.
She says it is the school's. He says the school
isn't sitting in it. I can almost remember why
she told me this story or some story like it.

I can't sleep without my fan on. She can't
fall asleep with it. I'll give her a couple more
minutes. I wonder what violence she dreams
of, of what forbidden ecstasy she views in
her private night. I do not know her. She
looks vulnerable, her body now bent in an S shape,
facing away from me. Am I scared for her? Of her?
Still sleeping, she bunches up her comforter;
she brings it to her face. Maybe that's marriage: being
scared for and of.

I turn on the fan. She stirs.

I'm sorry. I'll turn it off.

You can leave it on.

I'll turn it off.

Leave it.

She pulls my arm under her neck.
She brings her bottom against my thighs.

Will you hold me? Just for a second.

I can hold you longer.

Just a second.
Nupur Chowdhury Sep 2018
Collided with you on my way to work,
No, it wasn’t a sign, wasn’t destiny’s quirk.
A swollen temple and a bruised nose
Do not herald a date, a wedding, or even a rose.

Dropped my books on my way to class,
Our fingers brushed when you knelt on the grass
Music blasting from the dorm on the second floor
I nodded my thanks and walked through the door.

I know they say it’s divine intervention,
But it’s more just my lack of hand-eye coordination.
I know you believe we were meant to be
But I need spectacles more than a relationship.

Now my scarf’s stuck to your wrist watch,
My hem’s ripped, your buckle’s botched.
I knew I shouldn’t have bought the lace
Oh ****! Did you think this was decreed by fate?

Spilled my coffee on your shirt front
****! Was it Ralph Lauren? Peter England?
Here’s a coupon for a dry-cleaning discount
Just tell me you don’t think this counts.

Look, I’m not saying you’re reading too much into this,
Though that might be an accurate analysis.
All I’m saying is our future looks accident prone
So maybe invest in an insurance plan before a wedding loan.

— The End —