"detector" poems
Your caress is silky and creamy like butter
And my darling, I'm afraid that your lingering touch will give me diabetes
Your heart crumbles like flour when I press mine against it
And beads of sugar hang like dew upon your lashes
Maybe if I blended you up into cookie dough
And baked you at 350 for 15 minutes until you were golden brown
Then I wouldn't be afraid to stroke your resplendent face
Perhaps I wouldn't wince at the thought of pressing my ear against your chest
Just to hear your confectionary heart quiver
And there wouldn't be the slightest trepidation when I kissed your intoxicating tears
But I'm afraid that I'll leave you in for too long
And your saccharine core will harden and reek of soot
And with the slightest touch, you'll be reduced to ash
And your cremated remains will get frightened at the accusatory wail of the smoke detector
And they'll seek refuge in my oven's crevices
Never to be seen again
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
I'm a soldier in the nightlight revolution
I'm fighting the nightmares that haunt your dreams
The monsters in your closet
And the Boogeyman under your bed
One outlet at a time
I'm a silent alarm that vibrates your covers
When older brothers come in after bed time
To cover your face in shaving cream
Dip your hands in popcorn bowls of warm water
Or just slap you in the face
Sometimes they're not that subtle
I know when there is a tooth under your bed
Or reindeer on your roof
I've got a motion detector to keep step fathers at bay
While your mother's asleep
I'm his grave digger and his crypt keeper
Taking his skeletons out of the closet
And laying them in the middle of the floor
That man won't call on you anymore
I'm a hug when all you need is a handshake
And a hold-you-all-night when all you need is a kiss on the cheek
I don't do half-ass
When things go bump in the night I bump back
Never fear to close both eyes when you sleep
Dream of fairy tales, Prince Charming
Dream of Maid Marions
Waiting for your touch
Don't fear the reaper he fears me
I am a soldier in the nightlight revolution
Armed with so much more than illumination
I crawl through the cracks in the closet door
Make their shadows cast pictures of rainbows on your wall
The Boogey Man runs from Chuck Norris
Chuck Norris runs from me
Please rest easy
Let the night take you for all it has to offer
Through star lit skies and rain filled clouds on magic carpets rides
Ocean floors and clown fish in little yellow submarines
Rain forests with koalas and parrots and panda bears
Son never fear for what the night brings near
The nightlight revolution is here
Throw your dream catcher away I will hand craft each one
Take the lavender out of the window sill
Don't leave the door cracked
You've got me
I'm here
We're all here
Soldiers of the nightlight revolution
And we will not sleep til you're awake
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC
Sadness follows me like a lost puppy,
Looming and pattering at my feel like rain.
Whining like a smoke detector
When a child makes a mistake.
I inspire depression.
An earthquake.
I step in fairy-like
Movements, trying to be quiet
Like a woman should be.
Destruction ripples in my wake.
I am a bulldozer crashing a funeral,
Demolishing the memories we mourn.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
My skin, few shades darker than yours
Stand between you and me,
Beneath we are all blood and bones,
But do you even care
when you pick me up from the bunch
Ask me, to remove my jacket, my trousers and boots
When I ask why, you say there is a reasonable doubt
But you know it, and I too
It really just, is,
the colour of my skin
As the metal detector traverse the length of my body,
Our eyes meet, and I stare right back at you
as the rest in the queue, just walk past me,
With nothing to say, with nothing to do,
they just watch me go through this drama I am used to
Sigh !
This is what the world has come to
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 3:46 AM UTC
~
*alone and an imposter,
deep in syndrome.
she absorbs the frost of seasonal ghosts
and hopeless feelings
of death and darkness.
she only shows one side of her every time.
she calls a random number
from a bar in the middle of the night,
seeking to confess
or find solace in the voice of a stranger.
but any stranger might just happen to be
a lie detector.
still she lays bare all the duplicity
and fragmentation of self:
prescription bottles with two different names,
elaborate façades in Los Angeles
and in New York,
so complicated she creates
something she calls the lie box.
inside her purse there's a collection
of file cards. "I tell so many lies," she says.
"I have to write them down and keep them
in a box so I can keep them straight."
alone she waits for either
sweet apricity or identikit:
each a memento of her faces.*
~
Feb 26, 2023
Feb 26, 2023 at 3:57 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder
What my life would be like
If I had never met you.
Not in a spiteful way,
Just out of curiosity.
Would a new name replace
The space
You've reserved between my lips? Or would I still be out there,
Counting time
Between the ticks of my metal detector?
Do you remember the metal detector?
You know,
I always was a treasure hunter.
I don't think I ever told you this but,
Before we met,
I modified it a bit.
I was tired of lugging it around,
So I put it in my heart.
This way,
I had nothing weighing me down.
I used that ****** thing for years.
After a while, though,
I got tired of metal.
I only ever found scraps, anyway.
So I modified it a bit more.
Honestly,
I barely made it out of that one intact,
But it was worth it.
This time, I was looking for love.
I don't want to run this tangent
Into the ground,
But I guess what I really want to know is
Would my heart ever beat that fast again?
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
It started hot and passionate and blinding.
Then it ran,
ran from me
faster than the alpine highway or
an Afro over your cute lisp.
And a bus leaves for 13 colonies and 14 days and
pictures are all I have.
Colorful but in
50 shades of grey.
Then never a breath from you
on the home front.
And disappointment marks my eyes.
Running all over town with eyes
like video cameras and
minds like a metal detector.
We wish we could be a fly on the wall or a plant in the earth or a new hair on your chin.
All moments,
every moment,
we know.
My fiend.
Detect this on your police detector.
Little blue Honda that looks tan in the sun.
White Camry.
Up the street then back down.
Serpentine through the neighborhoods
hoping to see a familiar body,
but not be seen ourselves.
Every day
till July 15.
Then waving goodbye to an empty house I once knew.
Where I stayed too long and talked too much about nothing.
Too many memories to remember and flash before my heart.
Then I blink and they're gone and we've passed it.
And finally I've mimicked Taylor Swift
and wrote a song about Paris.
And boys in Montreal.
Late hours. Early hours.
All hours.
Spent engulfed in our own music from our minds.
Military men. Marines that cheat and break hearts.
not enough sleep.
Lots of tire on asphalt.
Up and down and up and down and back again.
Not enough French
and a brand new white iPhone.
And the sun sets on another day
and still the one thing I want
doesn't go my way.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
Buddies since birth.
Supposed to be the star of the north.
My playmate, my entertainer, my protector.
Like a human lie detector.
The same one face.
The other hard to trace.
Your evil on the rise.
Visible through your nasty eyes.
Your hands all over me.
Push and pull me in like a sea.
Cutting deep into my soul.
Gave me another set of secrets to hold.
All that you should have been was an illusion.
I regret calling you my cousin.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 2:21 AM UTC
~
*precious metal detector
of tourism,
as in a dream,
such device has the power
to make one nostalgic for places
either never visited
or nonexistent.
this strange museum exhibits
sometimes airplanes,
always mortality salience,
and the impossibly probable idea
that travel can change
your sense of time,
so you don't really mind
if things slip away,
or alter in some disenchanted way.*
~
Aug 21, 2022
Aug 21, 2022 at 12:21 PM UTC
there is a certain liminality to airplanes
even the ones now fixed to the ground,
all museum tours and rot held at bay,
for a while.
yearning for the strain of metal,
a voice calling out safety procedures
(don't tamper with or disable the smoke detector in the lavatory),
and someone who loves them to come back to brush
knowing hands, since gone to claws, over their instrument panels.
in the air there doesn't seem to be a good reason
for planes not to tilt,
tilt down inexorably,
till they kiss the earth again.
all crumpled aluminum and fire
and a small black box
to tell those we left on land
some of how it happened.
I can tell myself about physics and engineering,
about this being my second flight today,
and about how (if nothing else) I made it onto this plane.
the turbulence pays me no mind.
touching down, touching ground, it hesitates.
there's a ghost of movement still.
a waiting. a breath.
the rush of air and engines,
not gone so much as paused,
halted only for a moment.
I am a little afraid of flying
but I'm more afraid of moving on
moving past this moment,
all muscled grace and limbo,
a portion of earth held up in sky.
then we land and walk to baggage claim
while behind us the airplane-
the airplane holds.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
insidious lies:
the ones with a hint of truth
we tell ourselves
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
My metal detector doesn't work. I'm sorry my friend killed you, she has problems with her cerebral cortex. My metal detector broke, and I need to find the treasure buried by old ford himself; my ex said some meth-head said the devil was after him and he stumbled across the treasure covered in CD cases and hypodermic needles. They say he paid for a billboard over 75
Hey here, hey here it is baby
girl; blue shorts, bubble gum
in your hair? Here, here, here
and so I set out to find it. I don't care about my boyfriends other girlfriend; I'm hotter, I write poetry where the devil drinks what he siphones from gas tanks. My metal detector doesn't work. We only found out about the horseshoes in my ****** when he asked about insemination with his fathers ***** he always wanted a sister. I gave the horseshoe to my friend to hang above her front door in exchange for her twenty two year old metal detector. Nothing like the dentist bought me, but it worked. I found the treasure behind the VFW, stuffed into Kodak film bottles: maple leaves, water hemlock, and the keys to a ghost racecar.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
Hacked
Every hook
Every cue
Every one of my references and internal pantheon
He's wired into it.
How did that happen?
He's a stranger
I didn't even know he existed two weeks ago
And yet...
He gets it so right every time.
~~
self referential
I like it when he writes of me. To me.
That curly feeling.
His revelations, and the mirror held up.
Tribute, affection, the wry smile of a stranger.
The slightly bonkers obsession and fascination.
Glimpses of a convoluted mind.
~~
Rib Ice
Standing on thin ice
Peacoat open, arms wide
I step into that hug
Burned by warm skin and hard ribs
Even more by his kiss
He likes to hear me moan
~~
Whose mindfuck now?
Are my actions consistent with my words?
Am I as I say I am?
Do I mean what I say, or am I playing you?
How's your ******** detector?
cards on the table time
abdicate or defecate
ante up
~~
headlong
He leads me on a scavenger hunt, insinuating, enticing, pulling me into dark corners to kiss me and probe me intimately, until we're off to cross the next threshold in this trip...
I have no idea how I got here. Turned round, disoriented, down the rabbit hole.
~~
Deep Purple
On the way out
Curious discoveries
Door handle sticky
Musk in the air
Who's that knocking at my back door?
~~
Goddess, lit
I like this intimate touch I have on your mind and emotions. It makes me feel powerful and protective of you. And pulls me closer in.
When you say I am a goddess, your goddess, I suspend disbelief and nod in acknowledgment and agreement. Yes, of course. In those times, I know I am powerful, wise, feminine, and mysterious, And that you are before me, kneeling, clasping my legs, leaning on me, head against hip and belly, worshipful.
And sometimes, you clasp my wrist as I'm turning to go and pull me back, quietly certain and not to be resisted. Inevitable. And then what? Kisses? Your hand on my breast bone? Gently steadied to meet your gaze, interminably and for no time at all?
I begin to believe you won't vanish.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
Sometimes when I pick up the pen
I feel my 5 ft 7 and ¼ inch frame
perk up like David at the sound
of Goliath's slurs.
I swear i'm 6'6"
and ready to dunk the basketball
straight over Wilt Chambelain's head
made soft by the kisses and **** yous”
of the 20,000 he probably never called back.
Sometimes when I start to write I believe
that I am invincible like James Cameron's
submersible in Titanic's
C deck sifting through soot and broken china,
floating over smoke stacks and rusted bedposts,
or reaching out my robotic arm to open
up the door to the radio room that once
buzzed with hellogoodbyes.
Sometimes I feel like the soldiers walking
behind that little napalmed angel screaming
down that dirt road in Vietnam,
oblivious to the fire of my words.
Her cries shrink me back down to size.
But most times I feel like I'm hooked
up to a lie detector test in the dank basement of
an FBI facility, blood pressure rising while
the polygraph line traces
the outline of a mountain range
no one has ever hiked.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
It's funny the things that catch our eye.
My boarding pass and passport are over checked
Student ID,
Admission letter four years old,
Father's death certificate,
My marriage certificate,
Endless documents,
To prove I'm not a threat.
He waltzes through without a blink.
No boarding pass checked,
No passport in hand,
No red flags raised.
I'm sure it's illegal,
But they don't ask
Or maybe they won't.
I'm the one they check,
The one they search.
3 hours.
Are these your suitcases?
Unpack the suitcase
who packed the suitcase?
Each item scanned
Where was the suitcase after it was packed?
swab,
wait,
second swab,
wait again.
third swab,
That had better be for good luck.
(more attention than the blarney stone)
Did anyone give you any gifts to bring?
Repack,
Rush through check-in.
Second security check,
Go to line 3.
Unpack hand luggage,
Laptop, tablet, phone, chargers, data cables
Scanned individually,
Take off shoes,
Walk through metal detector,
Three swabs more for good measure,
Repack,
Rush to gate
Already boarding
Finally in my seat.
He takes 15 minutes.
It's funny how his time 8-tuples,
When we travel together.
I may be his ben zug,
I may speak their language without the dreaded Mivtah*,
but I still don't belong.
It's funny the things that catch our eye.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
In a certain sense, you’re right
I led you on
I pulled the strings that guided your actions
Upon movie dates and way too many dinners
I could feel your feelings flail at me every time I drove you home
You were happy you found me…
Then the conversations slowly stopped
I stopped seeing you
I stopped answering calls
I stopped responding to texts
I stopped existing in your life
I stopped becoming a name in your daily sentences
You were sold on the idea that once I had *** with you multiple times
That my quest was over. My Journey was complete
Now I can fall down this empty pit
And be open to all the slurs and hatred you flail at me like used-to-be feelings
This is how you feel
This is how I am..
I stopped the war in our relationship
So I could focus on the Genocide that was constantly raging in my brain every time I was with you felt your heart beat and noticed it wasn’t in rhythm with mine
Like hers used to be…
Once upon an October I lost love
Regained it
Then was murdered by it in the summer
Although my name wasn’t in the obituaries
If there was a news paper for body parts
That’s where you’d find my heart
When she left I took her face
Like a serial killer
I ripped it off and tried to mask it over
All the girls that wanted to show me love on the weekends
They couldn’t fit her dress
They couldn’t fit her shoes
They couldn’t fit her smile
They couldn’t fit her body
You beautiful girls mean nothing to me
In the end
Yeah, I left you
Because I’m not a kid
I can’t keep playing pretend
You cried, yelled and slapped me
Yeah, I wanted to hit you back
For not understanding
So,
This goes to all of you
When you see me out about swept up in the nightlife that this town brings
Focus on the different girls that are at my side
And crop them out
Take a copy from my past and paste it on my present
Call me a man *****
Sometimes I can’t take it
I try and find lost love in pointless ***
Call me a ****
That’s what you think I am
I haven't told anyone how haunted my brain is because of her
Call me an *******
Because I left when you needed me the most
Which I guess is worse than being connected to a lie detector
And asked the question, “Do you love her?”
Do you want proof on paper
Made from scratches about how much I don’t love you
Call me insane
Because I can’t let go of the past and everything
In my brain is pulsing because I still picture her in dreams
Or you can call me a child
Because I still like to play pretend
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 1:37 AM UTC
I remember the black spot
over the stove,
before dad painted over top,
and made the world normal again.
I remember the smoke detector,
how it sounded like a broken toy
left on, until the batteries
would eventually run out.
"I wanna see!"
How tiny those boots,
fit for an Alaska winter,
must now seem,
but hardly at all when I was carried next door,
still in my pajamas,
to watch the big truck
with its bells and lights.
It was dusty when they left.
A thin, white blanket of snow,
to ***** out a grease fire,
lightly frosted the tiny
toy ice cream cart.
"Don't touch that!"
"Can I help you paint?"
Perhaps I could cover up
my very first nightmare,
where the big red fire engine
shot me with a jet of water
past my mom and dad,
through a snow white trellis,
and into a tiny bed
with Winnie the Pooh sheets,
screaming at two in the morning.
It's funny to be gun-shy
of every school fire alarm,
because the Army safety officer
was caught without his fire extinguisher.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Honesty was buried in the grave
that you dug for fear of making
yourself look bad
as you shoved the dirt atop
the excuses that sound so clever
in your thoughts.
As if I am too clueless to understand
the truth that you hold back.
How can I be embarrassed that
your decisions resulted in colored pencils,
instead of a dictionary.
That it is dull words that slip through our phone calls
to keep you occupied with your life,
creating ways to relate them to me--
when they don't.
The last time I used a shovel,
I was raking leaves.
The required tool was not available,
but I made the best of it,
and still told the truth at the end of it.
So lets make plans for the future
none of us are promised,
because lies are found deep in our structure.
This is no treasure hunt,
I do not have to seek out
accumulated values that belong to
someone other than me.
my metal detector is better used as
a prop to hold my broken window shut,
because it used to be a habit
to lock myself out.
And now I have a life of authenticity to take me
to the heart of a dirt-free familiarity.
Where others are required to leave their dreg diggers
at home where it is more comfortable,
if they want to communicate with me;
I never have to look down on myself again.
my emptiness has been filled.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
You're such a good ******** detector
But I'm the one that's defective
I can't tell if you're an ally
Or an undercover detective
Cause around these parts
The air is toxic
It's **** or be killed
With a dash of pretzel logic
All we've ever known was apathy
And all we've ever felt was confused
So we popped pills and hit the bottle
Using to avoid feeling used
But you're an artist
You make up stories
I can't tell if I fascinate you
Or if you find me boring
I don't want to be a prop
To occupy your hours
I don't want to be your pet
With you holding all the power
Most of all, I don't want to be manipulated
By the impulses of those that whisper in your ear
I just want friendship reciprocated
I need words that are sincere
So please excuse my insecurities
But you knew what you were getting into
I'm the fragile, broken cargo
Of a bird that never flew
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
What happened in Georgetown stays in Georgetown.
Judge Kavanaugh, that's what you said.
But maybe that's not always the case,
For now you see that stories spread.
If you are the goody two shoes
That Republicans say you are,
Prove to us that you have what
It takes to be their shining star.
Gang rapes? Drunken parties?
Serious charges for a youth.
What happened there behind closed doors?
We just want to know the truth.
Survivors are merely asking for further
FBI investigations
To get to the bottom of all of this.
These are serious accusations.
One thing that they have done
Or at least say that they will do
Is take a lie detector test.
Maybe YOU should take one, too.
"This poor man's life is being ruined."
That is what your fans are saying.
They ignore how others' lives
Have been affected. That's dismaying.
Look at the hollow hypocrisy
Of members of Congress who turn their backs
On women who have struggled to
Survive violent ****** attacks.
Some say that the Democrats
Are experts at how to lie and cheat.
But we've seen that Republicans
In Congress are masters of deceit.
Holding back pertinent
Information is not the best
Way to show that a nominee
Makes the grade--passes the test.
Judge Scalia's position was kept
Open for over 400 days!
Now they want to rush to judgment,
Ramming you through with no delays!
A thorough study's important, but
Republicans don't give a ****
The confirmation process here
Has turned into a real sham.
-by Bob B (9-25-18)
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
Heads bob over waves, another couple
passes. Bennett on his bath towel,
burying his fingers in the sand,
legs pointing toward the sea.
Tries to escape through summer’s haze,
but only recalls the room some years ago:
students speaking of Antigone and he
finally uttering a thought, but his thought
Is thought superfluous. A silence entering
Bennett. Bennett becoming that silence.
But suddenly he is here again,
watching the muttering old man
with his metal detector.
The old man stops, his ugly
voice hushes, and bends
down to grasp the Earth.
He wonders what is there.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
“How did you know you loved him?”
I was too drunk to answer with a lie
So I poured out the truth like wine
I knew I loved him when
His name tasted sweet on my tongue
The warmth of his touch became an addiction
Every dream, every thought was consumed by him
My smile lit up as if I swallowed the sun
Each kiss was a flower blooming with color
Making love to him left me feeling infinite
You see,
I knew I loved him because
Losing him took the breath out of my lungs
and
Telling you this took the beat from my heart
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 3:01 AM UTC
You're like a smoke detector.
A smoke detector without batteries.
You're supposed to warn me, protect me, save me...
You're supposed to be there before the flames engulf me.
But a smoke detector without batteries is only there for show.
Because by the end of the blaze...
I'm already a pile of rubble.
{df - 03/16/17-}
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 10:03 AM UTC
Just knock that
Screaming
Hunk of ****
Off the wall
With a broom.
Rip out the battery.
Hope the landlord doesn't
Knock on your door.
Open another beer.
It's the
Least
Of your troubles
Anyways.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC