"erik" poems
It was almost 10 oclock, their eyes heavy as rocks, Erik and Jamal headed home
The fork in the road that they've always known to mean they tread on all alone
They made their embrace and started their pace and Erik did not hasten much
Jamal however was quick to endeavor, because mama had told him to rush
They walked their separate ways, reflected on their days, and coveted what tomorrow would bring
At that very moment, their train of thought stolen, by the bellow of sirens they sing
A large police van rolled upon each young man, and flashed a light on each of their face
They told Erik hurry, his mom needn't worry, yet they questioned young Jamal's pace
They told him get down, he got on the ground and struggled in his discomfort
Erik heard a bang in the night, that had gave him a fright, and thought to himself where'd it come from?
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC
when my little sister was born
i was no longer the youngest
and i was happy to have her around
when my little sister was a baby
she was very smart
learned how to walk sooner than most of us
when my little sister was growing more and more each day
she took risks like
biting into a lemon
or
waking up our sleeping cat
when my little sister started school
she was excited
when my little sister learned to ride a bike
she fell many times
but one day
she kept going and going
when my little sister said something smart
i'd ask her
who told you that?
and she'd reply
anybody
she really meant to say
"nobody"
when my little sister thinks something is unfair
she gets upset
when my little sister thinks someone is unfair
she gets teary eyed
and
hurts inside
when my little sister sees a scary movie trailer on tv
she runs to the other room
so innocent
when my little sister asks me if I have a girlfriend
and I reply no
she replies
you don't need one - you need to take care of me
when my little sister wakes up and finds out she was sleeping all alone
she runs out of the room and cuddles next to me or Erik - our brother
or she says
i don't want to sleep anymore
when my little sister sings along to one of my songs
it brings me joy
when my little sister grows up
i want the best for her
when my little sister grows up
i want her to be an example
and
as long as i'm alive
i need to be that example
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
Have you heard about old Erik Satie?
He was quite slim and not un fatti;
Son père was a Frog, his Ma a wee ****
(which must have given quite a shock
to his musical chums at the Conservatoire
where he wrote "Trois morceaux en forme de poire").
While sitting 'au piano' one fine day
At his Honfleur home so bright and gay,
Our Erik felt himself come over queer,
(le résultat triste de beaucoup de bière).
He hadn't felt so odd since he didn't know when
(that's when he wrote his "Gnossiennes").
Now I don't want you to think Erik was bent
That certainly wasn't what I meant;
But there's no doubt he was a little odd
(indeed many called him an asexual sod);
For, although French, he loved not the ladies
(and he also wrote three nice "Gymnopédies").
Many piano pieces which Satie penned
Are rather silly and round the bend;
One was called "Prélude for a Dog"
(which he wrote whilst sur le bogue);
Perhaps his best known work is called "Parade"
Which some people think is quite avant-garde.
He was a bit ***** and collected umbrellas
Which set him apart from saner fellers;
He had lots of velvet suits to his name
(and for some reason, they all looked the same).
But he over-did it on the ***** was often ******
Thus he died prematurely, and is sorely missed.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:46 AM UTC
I'm a dark and twisted guy
Who wants to shred El Burnside
With a bullet shot by *******
Like Erik Clapton best said it.
I'm on the Dark Side of the Moon
Smoking Pink Floyd listening to Cudders
Smoke anything to hyphen my mood
I'm a conartist who laughs at everyone's misadventures
But cries when something bad happens to my ancestors.
I listen to psychedelic music to put me on the Devil's Swing....so I can let my soul and spirit sleep.
A dose of ecstasy in any given music festival.
Sasquatch! Lollapalooza, a river dressed as an animal.
But I'm acting like a citizen of planet Jupiter.
Because of the way I've been living.......
I can't get any stupider.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
Erik
Eruch
uh
How do you spell it?
Stephanie on the stereo
with Sophia ******
stains on the sheets
I still don't know your name is
what?
Erik
Eruch
uh
How do you spell it?
K dot
G dot
com
But there are cookies
on the paper.
Wipe up the crumbs
I thought cookies were coming
Well check you receipts.
Got a lawyer?
Got a broker?
Erik
Eruch
uh
How do you spell it?
Timothy
or timmy
No, not tommy
I'm Tim.
Sacrificing monsters, I started
as him. It. Clown. Bonkers.
Check the roster I'm no mobster. Lawless.
Flawless i'm not.
Scars on this and that
knee.
Broken shoulder I'm holding in my *** you.
S. S. Mathematical difference.
Its a distance but I will be there
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
for Ralph Ellison
slippin
me ed
into the
wholesome
nothingness
of the
breach....
invisible
revelations
of
patient
affirmations
revealed
(nothing
remains
settled)
somewhere between
Exile on Main Street
Rolling Stones
Rip This Joint
&
Erik Satie
Gnossienne
Suffern
11/8/13
jbm
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
I saw my brother’s doppelgänger
On the train back from Miami
He boarded and sat down across from me
This twin of my brother Sammy
My friend clutched my arm in amazement
At my sibling’s new twin brother
I stared as if an angel had come
Couldn’t tell one from the other
His 6 foot four frame just like he stood
His look so like Erik the Red
He walked like him, too, I’d swear he was
My brother Sam raised from the dead
Dressed in tall jeans, a casual look
Just like I imagine him, too
With faded red hair, the same age and
The same friendly kind eyes of blue
For those who mourn will be comforted
I prayed hard for more time to gain
To be with my beloved brother
Then an angel walked on that train
He looked at me so tenderly
Pale eyebrows defined a gentle lift
My throat locked up as tears streamed down
Seeing Sam’s doppelgänger, God’s gift
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 9:06 AM UTC
by Erik, Taki and Angge
i really wanted to stay
but i have all the reasons to walk away
i did everything so there'd be no doubt
but i didn't expect a fall out
i thought i'd start breaking
when you stopped me from leaving
but how can i love
when i don't love?
i'm sorry, it hurts, i know,
but it's time for me to go
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Dear Charles,
I am writing this to tell you one thing and one thing only:
A war is about to begin soon, and once it has, both you and I know that only one side can win. This means that the losing side loses everything.
Unfortunately for you, I do not share your faith in humanity. And I absolutely have no pity for them. They are a bunch of idiots who fear what they do not understand and try to get rid of it before figuring out what they are actually dealing with. Humans see us as a disease, Charles. They fear us because we have far more potential than them and that we are above them in terms of power. Believe me, I didn't want to fight against humanity either, but I am not able to just sit and watch while another fellow mutant die because of them. We are initially not a threat, but now they have turned us into one. And we are certainly not experimental subjects, but they have turned us into those too. From the moment I noticed these signs around me I knew I had to save myself before it's my turn, even if it means eradicating everyone else.
I do not wish to do this, Charles, but one day you will learn that some matters can only be solved using the hard way. As much as you hate to admit it, diplomacy is not able to smooth everything out. I am sure that your friend Hank knows this well more than we do. I am not the enemy here, Charles. I am only trying to save myself and also my own kind. Our own kind.
I have left with several of our fellow mutants. You might be able to track them down with Cerebro but not me. However, just in case you do, please don't bother coming for me. I have set my mind and you know that the only way to change it is for you to get into my mind and take over it, which you won't. I will be carrying out plans you will certainly disapprove of. But then again, Charles, we are two very different people. As far as I can remember, we have never agreed on a single thing before, which surprises me that we even became acquaintances in the first place.
I hope I will never see you again, Charles. But if we do, I hope we will be fighting alongside each other, not standing on opposite sides of the battlefield.
Take care of Raven for me. I trust you better at handling her than I do.
Your old friend,
Erik
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
I saw you in the night as you drank your coffee.
Sipping down caffeine like you were taking in gasoline
Wishing for that fuel to take you a few hundred miles farther than this.
I’m sorry that your addiction could not take you farther
Across this country of methamphetamine addicts and alcoholics;
I should know,
My nicotine has never gotten me farther than another cigarette
And my lungs can only line themselves with what we pave our roads with;
They say “Thank you, for smoking.”
It feels good sometimes
To know
That even though both my grandfathers have died due to this addiction
That I carry a legacy, a legend,
A map to where my blood has been going
Living through tradition like it was not something forgotten by our siblings,
Parents,
Even our friends.
It’s like we’ve fallen deeper into preservation
Putting no chemicals into our lungs, but plenty into our stomachs-
I wonder how we justify it.
I guess it’s cheap can serve as satisfactory,
But I can still remember being a child and hearing:
“Erik, nothing in this life is free.
Do not be cheap.”
I’m sorry that the maps still show that New York is three thousand miles away from Oregon
I cannot rewrite them and manipulate the ways in which we travel
Take Minnesota and place it next to
Montana
Or Florida
I’m sorry that it seems we are still children
sipping on Coca Cola on the docks of Lake O’Dowd
Or teenagers still smoking **** in Kenwood park
Or like we are still college kids
Not doing our homework
So we may drink Pabst.
I am only twenty years old,
But I can already see how the paths are only highways towards the destinations we wish we could reach-
Yet sometimes cannot.
We are only children,
Wishing to be older, to find
We wish we could still be younger, only to
wish we could live forever,
To wish we could still be mortal
To wish this was not inconsequential
I am only twenty years old,
But I can see that we are already lost.
If you would trust me,
enough,
to lay your hand in mine
I’ll find the best drawn highway
on this barely marked map
And take us to the end.
You can take your coffee.
I just may take my cigarettes.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 2:05 PM UTC
I find my eyes tracing lines
In subtle efforts to find
Exactly what moment was
Pivotal in finding our redefining
Reread rediscover.
Hover to soak in every ounce
Of something I’m not completely
Comprehending,
Listening for my echo to tell me something
About what the hell I’m meaning,
I’m spinning over the thought of it,
To finally have the chance
To whisper all my stabs
At a truth I haven’t had
and make you realize
there’s a million parts of you
worth writing over,
rereading to rediscover
Hover to soak up every ounce
Of something worth reliving,
Risking, head spinning, heart beating,
Words kissing over the kind of kissing
You leave me needing
creating that smile on your lips
Give it again I want another chance
Too look at you under scrutiny of pen
And hover reread rediscover
peel open your cover,
Let my fingers trace the page
And capture the bits of you
between the words we said
When you fumble, in the silence,
In your weakness, in how you
Look through your eyes and grin.
The bits of you, you leave
Open wide and unedited
When you decide to let me in.
You might be just a new chapter
In a life I’m excited to lead,
That’s a hell of a lot better than
A list of things
To miss and broken dreams
No pressure,
Whatever lesson this literature holds
I’m glad I held you,
I’m sure as hell am glad I read you.
Your my poems steady build
Your words bursting at its seams
causing ink to well beneath my skin.
But the bruises you give,
I would like to get again.
So I hover, reread to rediscover
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
I'm done
Goodbye
You missed out
I'm better
I deserve better
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
I
Erik went up to the summit
To where a rock he could plummet
The depths of the sea seem bare
A wasteland for Erik to swim
II
Louise went up to the summit
To where a rock she could plummet
Hesitation she stopped to look
Poor Louise was afraid of heights
III
Marko went up to the summit
To where a rock he could plummet
Killing a man with such great haste
Marko he knew the price to pay
IV
Alice went up to the summit
To where a rock she could plummet
Shunned from home she undressed to swim
Who would let ***** Alice come back
V
I too went up to the summit
To where a rock I could plummet
It seems that I have dropped my pen
For I will never write again
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
and sometimes magic, a scene from the book
of genesis, chapter verse whatever,
buying whiskey and beer in a supermarket,
the cashier, Tara, knows me,
she's my gym coach,
she tut tut struts and tuts when i buy
beer telling me to keep the beer off -
i told you alcoholics are mobile,
we go sightseeing most of the time,
on a double decker bus we bemuse and
lipread: and here's the Elizabeth tower (formerly
known as Benjamin "big **** Disraeli -
the English by the French after the 100
year war: if they're not retards, they're perverts) -
**** that shit's brushed off on me! am i a **********
if i hold dear a British passport? phew! no? yes? huh?!
i must be a Mr. Khan in waiting...
no, but seriously, a scene in the cave of an iceman,
5 lasses buying wine lonely,
me my beer my whiskey,
i get a lemon added / **** i told you it was a lime not
a lemon on the conveyor belt -
i get a lime, lucky Adam got an apple
and one asking, i'm doing double-up fevers waiting
for Saturday night with Paris, Hilda, Venus and Hera..
Adam gets an apple from smooch slick Eva
naked and i get a ******* lime on a conveyor-belt
in a supermarket while buying whiskey...
Jonah! call the whale! i'm sure we'll both
be calling it Noah's ark when tomorrow comes;
**** you not, we'll be boarding dry-land at
Arsuk - **** send a message to Columbus -
we discovered North America via Greenland
like you discovered the same via the Caribbean Islands,
ha ha! call it dynamo of Erik versus Kristopheren;
i just got a lime on a conveyor belt in a supermarket,
Adam was handed an apple in Eden -
i guess that's worth a 50 50 chance of coincidence
with my sex-starved libido and the English "roses":
not that i'm guarantying anything good either,
it's not like i'm a vacuum cleaner based guarantee -
but **** me, the ****** **** wrinkles and all,
bamboozle clad the salutary march for applause -
and the fainting bearskin trumpet-brigadier at
the ro- -yal parade onto Buckingham Ponce;
n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
when he said, 'give me your hand'
i was on my way to another land
sitting around with a dutch in my hand
it seemed so absurd that with tears you told me
you had said yes
of your only two
hes the second best
I'll go around
and start a fire in a different room
to cope with the feeling
of these brides and grooms,
swearing you both love each other
while you now smile
if you're gonna take my sister,
make one promise mister,
promise that you'll love her
promise when she cries,
you will be the cloth
to dry her running eyes,
do the things your father does
for your mom,
talk to me a bit when you're in my old home
treat her like you have a gun to your head
cause if shes not smiling
you should wish for death
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 7:34 PM UTC
There once was a club swinging Swede
Determined to pillage and breed
But sweet miss O’conner
Defended her honor
Refusing to welcome his seed
There once was a red-bearded Viking
To the emerald land he went hiking
And trying to be wily
Snuck up Miss Reilly
But his salmon was not to her liking
There’s a viking name Erik the Erring
On a voyage he lost all his bearing
Instead of New York
He landed in Cork
And alone he became hard of herring
Oct 4, 2024
Oct 4, 2024 at 3:01 AM UTC
The Pope and statues
Confounded old age, I keep looking on a black screen, on a plateau of nothingness
Except for the ridiculous idea, I ought to travel to Rome and see the statues
I once wrote about, and perhaps meet the Pope, and we can talk about this and that.
I must meet him now before the Vatican machinery brainwash him into a Pope
wearing glorious robes, a person of empty rituals.
If I get to meet him, he could dress up in a smart Italian suit, and we could go for
a walk and look at the statues together.
Drink beer and eat Brazilian sausages with Italian flare; tell him a secret so deep
he may think me deluded.
Dear brother Frances, your name is Erik, we are twins, shared the same womb,
but I was kidnapped by the Roma people and grew up in poverty the underdog
in our democratic world; and you are the bishop of Rome.
There will be a stunned silence, either he accepts my story and embrace me
or he calls the Swiss guards; whichever he will not forget me and the statues.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 5:36 AM UTC
Erik Satie: Gnossienne No. 1, 2, 3
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
the new moon really got me restless, i guess.. spinning out the ceiling like some headless daemoness, don’t wanna give my car a rest over that pothole on the backroad and baby, i’m not scared when you throw punches, give it another go. that bubbly went straight to my head, a place you can never find- wind it up now i’m ready to dance again, haven’t got pulled over yet so strap yourself in and grind that skin, you’ll never win.
i’m too good at this, you said it
your
self.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
Erik Satie - Gymnopédie No.1
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
Indulge in chaos with an appetite of tremendous conviction.
Hastily retrace your preamble that drapes the window pane like the silhouette of a cynic,
Divulge the albatross of plight to escape eviction
And lay waste the shambles that shape a widow’ s pain beset by a mimic.
An insipid eye for uninspired lies,
She forged herself an eponymous name,
Like holding a vigil for a pessimist when in Retrospect the glass is half full.
An under-dog recounts our demise,
Misfortune subsides having only the ***** to blame,
Lack of abuse is an act of kindness,
As Jan-Erik Olsson has no sympathy for the devil.
_TRF
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
Trusting Erik Satie
I introduce myself to
Her
As an absurdist.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 10:11 AM UTC
My home, your home
Come home, our home
Come home my sweet love
Come home tonight
Home
Come home
Home
Our home
Come home my sweet wife
Come home tonight
Loves
Life
Your
Right
You know I needed you here
And its right
You know I want you close
Holding you tight
All night
Come home
Love...
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 1:04 AM UTC
As I write my passages,
Erik plays the piano,
skeletal fingers moving along ivory keys,
as the nocturnes spill into the cold december air.
Absent he may be,
Erik does not disappoint,
rythm and tempo are wrought into existence,
by living entities,
pressing keys and buttons,
or tapping on steering wheels,
with their lips quivering in high pitch whistles.
I wonder where Erik conjured his works.
In the eyes of a woman?
Or those of the sky?
snow-flakes?
Grass blades?
or another somber serenade.
What is the purpose,
Erik?
Am I writing for myself?
Of course,
But,
is it wrong to show them in doing so?
can men dance for a music they don't quite understand?
I hope so,
for our sake.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC