"cutoff" poems
Being a coach is hard
Winning isn't everything
It all stats during practice
Arrive early to prep for the team
The ones who want it show up on time want it
The best players show up late
Running bases conditioning for the game
Batting cages to help with the swing
Playing catch helping the team work as a unit
Till the day of the big game
Slide to the base with technique practiced
Cutoff play to make an out
Team functions without doubt
Play hard play right win or loss giving it your all
Coach does right by the team no need to fight
Lets win and take the season play and do
What the team does best play softball
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
When I return to Hope
it will be the height of summer's warm July
I'll stroll the gravel road to take the cutoff path
gathering lupine wildflowers, breezy among the dewy grass
make my morning way along heaven's labrynthine trail
with chirping cheery bird, sweet songs or distant calls of loon
where blue of sky is woven wild with magenta all abloom
and I will lose myself most complete
immersed in nature's room
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
the Hail Mary transgression:
falling in love with me when it crosses over the line
*guilty of the same, so even when I condemn the errant woman,
with an ice block from a Northeastern pond of no soft forgiveness,
which is still and yet, the only cutoff ending appropriate
but you woman, deserve to learn that
emboldened fantasy that crosses broken bold lines,
is a jagged rot that doesn’t cure the dreamy unreality of
the-cannot-be,
it’s pouring hot water on scalding burns entrenched
guess time to share that your fantasy is the
number one commandment
that this boy also violates routinely so he has a phd of experience,
and the burn proofs when he thot he too could be,
Cervantes, the knight errant, lover of the impossible woman
I, guilty as charged by “The Duke,” am an idealist and bad poet,
so many poet-women here I secret cherish at levels that are nonsensical, absurd, ludicrous
and hold the fantastical fantasty of them dear,
so close and so near, so mine
wrote them each love poems, and they know it,
now, here, in my confessional booth,
my priestly punishment always the same,
ten thousand Hail Mary’s,
but I cheat the cohen priest,
and just write another poem,*
this one is about the line that never can could will be
crossed, hail mary!
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC
Now there goes another friend,
Who decided she was better off on another land,
She flew without saying goodbye,
Because if she said she’d miss me
it’ll be a lie,
It was heartbreaking to see,
When someone you love start to leave,
But there is nothing i can do,
When our something isn’t meant to be,
I watch with sullen eyes,
And i choke my tears behind,
Because i don’t understand,
Just how some people can be so unkind,
But that’s just the way the world works,
And these unkind things
will continue to lurk,
Not giving a **** about who then,
would get really, truly hurt.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
The under shell of
the tortoise looked
like a sunset.
Blasts of color:
orange, maroon, burnt sienna.
I caught them in
the garden at
sunrise, eating a
tomato or chewing into
a head of lettuce.
They always looked so
serious.
I was just a
sunburnt boy, with
cutoff jeans and a
straw hat.
I caught toads too.
But when they peed on me,
I let them go.
I loved that land.
Ponds and streams,
fishing and climbing trees.
oh,
sweet, green
youth.
Apr 29, 2023
Apr 29, 2023 at 11:44 AM UTC
~~
behind the shadow a distinct lost dream
standing opposite of a long bridge
crossing through the middle cutoff
see the river flowing beneath
illusive calling but can't go
on the edge a dark sharp sign
known voices floating over
echoing an ego which cover the shadow
how many days offset!
and try to touch the last sunset
still silhouette stands on the shore
what is mystic that always opens the door
the river bumping with waves
between the broken parts of the bridge
passing a phase of life on the ridge
yet subconscious grew a cohesion of dream
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Labor Day still three weekends away,
Why play gravedigger so prematurely?
Do not the long legged teen girls yet parade,
In halter tops and shortest of jeans cutoff?
Bare shoulders, tans, caramel cream, short and
tight,
The dresses and the contents, and your chest too,
right?
True, but the thermometer barely brushes 75,
That evening coolness, not yet a chill, now ever-present.
Soon the acorns in August will appear, but for sure,
I know that summer's end knells loud and clear,
Because tonight, the ladies wore pantyhose.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
Parenthood.
My intimate incubator, for the forthcoming foetus;
Are you too, truly feeling this dream?
I’ll become a father and you a mom.
It’s really going to happen soon.
So let’s both cut down on the drinking and stop the drugs.
Find a new way of life and overcome,
Our addictions to the illusions.
This could be a whole new beginning.
Girls just want to have fun, but I have found a woman.
I have someone who wants the commitment
And feels truly safe in,
The knowledge I’m here for her, ‘til death do us part.
This woman is the only one, allowed to get near my heart.
Once upon a time, we were so young and carefree;
She loved to feel the breeze, between her knees.
The passionate rush she got, from ******** a stranger,
Has now passed thankfully; she has no need for another,
Because I am her only lover
And she’s my baby’s mother.
But I can still remember when we first met.
I asked how far are you willing to take this?
What can I not do and is the list only short?
What’s the magic word that says you’ve had too much?
What is the cutoff point?
And do you like to take risks?
We made passionate love, morning, noon and night;
Now we still make passionate love,
But have more than adolescent desire.
We have an understanding, of each other’s bodies;
We have the knowledge, to leave each other satisfied.
For we’ve both been there, for each other,
When we were suffering insufferable pain.
We had both reached the stage in our lives,
When we believed, we would never love again.
We both believed, we couldn’t be happy.
We both had the same desire; to one day have a family.
It was hard for us, to be truly open
And to truly love again after our hearts had been broken.
But we shall overcome, the hurt and the pain;
To rise up each morning, ready to face a new day.
For now we are parents, our world has changed;
Now our love can be shared, with our offspring,
Until the end of our days.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a little straight slip of a thing,
red, a quartier inch wide,
red, a quartier inch thin,
suggestive, inquisitive,
a political and philosophical,
lovely provocation to conjecture
as if it were a colored arrow,
pointing strangely down,
instead of up,
to the next handhold
on a rock climbing wall,
in this case,
handholds on a
woman's body
this way,
follow me,
to the barricades!
a tourist mapped-path to follow,
visit the glories of the republic,^
and the charming Quartier Latin!
entrap and entice,
the eyes willful blinded,
taken away to thoughtful solitary,
on-one-side-only,
does the
bra strap
conveniently,
consciously,
haphazardly,
(yes, that's it,
a hazard,)
invitingly, speaks to,
looks to me,
inquiring will you vote,
RSVP to red?
as if a line of lipstick on the body drawn,
the directive points,
this way, perhaps,
always, just perhaps,
this way tourist,
to the dome of the pantheon,
where the statutes
are the course,
or perhaps
disguised, well-placed, statuesque, (ha!),
improvised explosive devices,
purposely presented,
needy for a desired
psychological high impact detonation
If
that is its purpose
under heaven,
under sweater,
under halter,
under cutoff gym top,
under liberty,
to tempt and remove
the blindfold from the womanly scales of
under justice
to tilt him favorably one way
If
it, is theater,
I, the audience
then whatever is on stage,
(Ibsen's Doll House, ironie délicieuse)
is a failed distraction, naught to naughty,
to no avail,
his eyes fastened, stapled wide
to the quarter inch thin
red path
from her slender shoulder,
leading, stepping him ****** down to
his I-magination,
for which unknowingly,
he, ticket purchased,
months ago for
two hours and one intermission
He must go again,
the show was
superbly acted,
for so the reviews said,
Ibsen's play,
"an unremitting portrayal of the suffering of a women"
^republic ~ a state in which the power rests in the body,
of those entitled to vote, exercised by their representatives, their eyes, chosen directly by and for them.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
I like that girl in the cutoff jean jacket
who always goes out with intent to make a racket
All that tribal black light paint
that you'd think would look cliche
until you see how well it illuminates her face
I want someone who still makes me feel young
Who isn't in a hurry to be all grown up
She's not afraid to say yes
to rock a neon headdress
and she always thought it cool to stretch her flesh
She rocks the shutter shades down in her V-neck
All summer long she's on the festie trek
She likes her wooden spiral plugs
her pieces shaped like bugs
and her most favorite thing is to give free hugs
From Triple Rock back to The Cabooze
Electric Forests and Bonaroos
She doesn't think that she'll ever grow old
with music, friends and stories to be told
Hemp and glass are her silver and gold
However, I am not quite like you
I'm just biding my time with this rowdy crew
I haven't yet committed to keeping my youth
and that's why my skin's still clear of tattoos
The longest lasting scars, forever proof:
You were once wild and young but afraid to face the truth
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
*Seven New Poems For Seven Days # 5: Summer Girls In Their Summer Clothes
Oh yes!
The streets of Manhattan, jewel dusted,
Summer girls in their summer clothes,
Bedeck the streets and make men say, Thank You!
To their creator.
Little black dresses, previously immortalized^,
Seasoning and sauces, halter tops and jeans cutoff,
Give thanks for the tanks, revel in the revelations,
For God created man and women in his/her teasingly bare image.
*Yo! Dude! This is number 5 in the series,
Of sad and somber, re dad and mother, ***
Have you lost perspective, not read the directive,
You're in mourning, time to be introspective,
Not dis-respective!
My mother was a beautiful women.
Till the day she died.
Yes, physically beautiful at 98.
She, was a poem.
For her exterior was suffused, burnished,
By the spirit residing within her body
I ask myself, why not judge a book by its cover?
Her cover was exquisite, but what gave her a glow,
A radiance, was her modesty, her love of humanity.
What's under our cover?
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
Young and old people sipping beer, with hands in pockets and heads nodding to the rock music, standing in a crescent around the stage.
Some 30 year-old guy in a cut-off is on stage playing a bright red guitar which is shining silver. He finishes his set.
I'm sitting here alone and nobody seems to mind. Actually a couple of people have smiled and said hello.
One of the drunker guys sitting at the bar yells "Encore" first and then the rest of the room starts echoing him. Encore. I even let out a few "Woos!"
This man probably trades his cutoff for a collar during his day job. But we liked listening to him. He take a long drink of his PBR.
Then, he starts playing his bright red guitar again. The rest of the room is cast in red lighting with blue-christmas tree lights dangling around the room.
The bar itself looks like we are on the inside of the hull of a ship.
Woody, damp, safe. Decorated by a collector of whisky bottles and olden times posters.
I'm in a booth and to my right is the act which just ended and to my left, books. "Can I buy you a book," I ask a beautiful woman at the bar motioning to the books with a smooth wink.
Just kidding, maybe next time. But as the act ends I see a drunken, happy, young man with a girl who looked like she was his girlfriend.
In his drunken courage he attempts to take her hand and bring her to the dance floor, now empty. He pulls a rare for college, Charlie Brown dancing, sort of moveset and she is laughing. It's still red blue and dim but she's probably blushing.
He keeps dancing by her till she stands up and dances near him, both of them laughing and enjoying and somehow dancing to the rock music that is playing.
He keeps motioning his finger for her to "come here" as he backs in the center of the dance floor, until eventually she follows.
For one song, the two dance by-themselves to this music, in the center of the dance floor and lights, bobbing in and out, and just jamming.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
I feel like drunk today
Drunk in your love
Drunk in betrayal
Drunk in the sweet poison of friendship
Drunk in the insecurities of being alone
Drunk in the want to cutoff everyone
Drunk in the memories of past
Drunk in the yearn to get you
And the hangover is going to last forever..!!!!
#12
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 1:41 PM UTC
that the trending tags,
for but a single day,
banished the perennials,
all celebrated the occasion
with a rousing wake and
an indecent burial
out **** spots,
sad, pain, heartbreak and depression,
in the closet, once a year, annual,
as for death,
it's ugly head,
cutoff, spiked and disliked,
in the tower displayed
for twenty four, de minimus,
on a day mutual selected,
we compose only
of the beauty, and the kindness
in each and all of us
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
cut cute cuttlefish
cutthroat rotisserie
cuticle tickling
cutoff
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
long after you’ve logged off,
the screen, now, just room temperature,
no longer warming plate hot, a good feeling lingers,
the glowing, slowing remains of our days first visitation,
reducing to a single dot, fading gunshot message, but unstated:
*”I was here, but moved on,
I am your first, yet you, are not mine...”*
the Dylanesque mystique, mystifying, mind-burring,
in the air hanging, those words sticky stuck in your craw,
ear worm ya, until, you utter rush, desperate to return,
shoot, what was that poem, its title, the author, ****
on what-was-that-poetry-site’s-name?
Hello Poetry! and now it’s too late, you’re not entranced,
no darling, you’re entrapped, fly glued to my sticky heart,
you, served raw, with the hook, line and sinker still attached,
you, my friend, are now my poet ****** my belonging, for
fourscore and evermore there is no cure, no cutoff, no resisting.
fresh meat for the poets beat, and you still have not even tasted
the salt water words, the rhymes that will tie up, and prolapse
your heart ******* in the love poems, ha, so when they ask what’s
the name of your new friend, the one that you are keeping so secret, tell them, shyly, bravely, whispering outstandingly, upright, shouting forthrightly: it’s me, Brandy Channing, and your soul is now mine to keep...for as long as deemed necessary to extract my ****** poems essence, so be my parasite and I will be you mistress, the mutual infection meaning but one thing! we, you and I, will live always apart, always together, yes darling, be distressed, you’re oh so blessed now, and
f o r e v e r....but tattoo these words upon your bicep lest one forget,
I am your first, you, are not mine
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 9:56 AM UTC
I oft' remember him with what he wore
at home, so often in his leisure time,
those cutoff sweat pants and those dull grey socks,
and right away I see him sitting there,
the corner of the couch, the one at right,
a dinner plate upon his lap, so full,
Lo Mein with beef and rice, duck sauce on all,
a burp, then slapping tummy, sounds are made,
oh, why won't he do anything again?
what would I pay to have him back again?
to hear his laughter and his joking ways?
the memory, it fades into a snap,
as I am jolted back to here and now
where absence sits alone on this here couch
and I can only call him in my mind.
(C)2007, Christos Rigakos
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC
Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.
I was the person meant to grow up
Finding these neighbors disgusting.
That was before all the questions I had
Of the vengeful God I was trusting.
But, I came to know that people
Must be more than what Sunday
And all the hypocritical singing
Would claim them to be someday.
So I started learning what people
Do when they act and walk
Then tried to match those actions up
With how people behave and talk.
Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.
Let The plastic hippies pretend
How mellow and tolerant they are
In their designer Levi cutoff shorts
And their carefully chosen used cars.
And expensive ****** and slinky pimps
Turn out to be much the same thing
They do what they do, get what they get
And all of it to please some great king.
Is that any different than praying in church
To invisible God they don't know?
Sneer if you wish and call it a sin
But I don't think that's how it should go.
Plastic hippies and flashy Hollywood ******
These were my neighbors and much much more.
The memorable characters on my famous street
Didn’t always have money or shoes on their feet.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:19 PM UTC
As I tuck my knees
to my right side,
sticking
to the smooth surface below
the cutoff denim fabric couldn’t cover
I tilt my head
and lean it back,
closing my eyes,
allowing the mixed smell
of tide water
and seat leather
to dance around my thoughts.
The warm night air
fills my lungs
with longing,
and wanderlust
as my lashes
kiss each other
with every flutter of my lids.
And as the cricket sing,
the salty spray of the ocean
fills my empty caverns,
elevates my soul,
and sweetens my spirits.
I am complete.
There is no wishing,
nor hoping,
nor dreaming for a better tomorrow;
just the contentment
of not knowing
which direction I face,
but the understanding
that I am going
somewhere.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
You were my light, so bright.
Never would've thought that you'd bring me blight, that you'd teach me spite, that you would give up on me when you told me to fight
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
wisps of hair float across your face
as you uproot a strand of prairie grass
and clasp your hands 'round it, bring it to your lips, and blow
In a wild meadow
I stand with you
in cutoff levis patches on the knees
cottonmouth and butterflies in my yellowbelly
Long after the cotton gin.
Still remains,
a thicket 'round your soul
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
tic
k tick
pick the lock
boom boom
cutoFF
Ym tongue
bite yours too!
fake fake fake wet
tears
falllllll
chop off my fingers
and
chew ch
ew on them yum
very odd
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
Earth knows it all
After we will be long gone
Off the cliff to nothing
Not existed ever after
The Earth will ever exist
As the Earth exists now
Without an inch of doubt
Will be healing itself, for sure
Everything is healing
Earth is a self healing phenomena
Everything in nature is healing itself
Those ****** don't know
Or seem to not know
The fact that every beings are of same importance
Not less and not more
For eco-balance and integrity
For the sole truth Of the reality
Of beingness, of natural existance
Even if it is not for humans
Nature knows how to keep balance
We are the ones who are in need
The nature does not need
The nature does not need us
As much of the fact that we need
As much of the fact that we need nature
As much as nature needs other creatures
Despite us human beings
The morons getting it cutoff
The trees and oxygen
Negligence in the choices
In the choices of energy
Choices of ideal and choices in action
Best energy sources exist for sure
Yet are no mainstream
And set to alternatives
Suppressed in
Just to say the least
We need fresh air
We need oxygen
To breathe and to live
The true essentials
The basic needs
Needs indeed
Just to say the enough
Impossible without
The call as it seems
I dream for the change
And for the good
Alternatives now
Must be mainstream
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 11:15 AM UTC
Its like a Moon
hard to define coz
a complete focus cutoff you
from the surrounding world
Seeing scientists,
If he his your father or spouse
then the behaviour will
disappoint you.
A complete focus
is a kind of hell and
If you say selective focus
then it is very good for
Hypocrite Minds...
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC