"escalator" poems
slave is someone who does not have authority over their own lives slave is someone subservient controlled dominated by somebody something slave works very hard for little or no pay slave is property of somebody something slave is someone forced to obey
sycophant is someone servile who overly flatters more powerful individual for personal gain sycophant is bootlicker brown-noser fawner flunkey doormat lackey lap-dog yes-men parasite toad-eater (pause reposition) somebody possessed of excessive vanity may cultivate sycophant swarms
side by side they stand clothed in black not quite similar the one slightly taller possibly because the other suffers poor posture perhaps they are related because in odd way they appear alike or of same ilk yet upon closer scrutiny it becomes apparent they have very little or nothing in common the taller one with troubled sad eyes the other smiling obsequiously the taller one more muscular ***** from working menial labor the other with curved spine slumped shoulders because of undue bowing and crouching while blowing smoke up other people’s *****
sadist is someone who attains ****** gratification by inflicting physical pain shame to other people sadist is someone who delights in excessive cruelty degradation to others
********* is someone who achieves ****** pleasure from being hurt humiliated abused dominated punished often self-inflicted ********* is someone who enjoys being harmed misused mistreated ignored by others
sadomasochist is someone who gets ****** gratification by alternately or simultaneously enduring hurt causing pain to somebody else sadomasochist is combination of sadistic masochistic tendencies in someone who obtains ****** pleasure from inflicting submitting to pain cruelty
sycophant slave snakes up leg of movie actress dictator who gains pain through pleasure 2000 miles from equator IED cell phone detonator sycophant dilettante ***** up to sadistic art critic or publishing editor on escalator while below on main floor of shopping mall ice rink figure skater pirouettes bows to nominator surreptitiously bribed by infiltrator mutilator
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
Saturday Night.
I have no need to explain myself,
I am what you created.
As the artist who painted this canvas,
you especially should understand
the portrait I call myself.
If you find me to be a disappointment,
it’s your own **** fault.
I catch myself forgetting the
little things about you,
My puzzle is left unfinished.
Secretly, I believe
that I am somewhere in the middle of
Life
and
Death.
Just waiting until
I get the courage to close my eyes
and take the escalator
up and away from
Void's emptiness.
Into the heightened arms of Love.
Catch me, if I fall.
Sunday Morning
Time flies by
and I'm still here lost without you.
I am someone that
came from nothing at all.
All i can remember from that night
was,
running home to the Sun.
I found myself passed out beside a toilet.
I got a hangover and fresh start.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 4:13 AM UTC
I was waiting for him on the escalator on one side of the road
My Heart pumped at the highest rate when all at once realized abode.
Saw him looking generously dashing riding a scooter
He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and his hair were messy but modish.
And here I was standing in my usual tank top and jeans,
hair tied in a messy ponytail
just then He saw me, waved And parked his vehicle near my usual bus stop
I walked to his way with my bag full of books.
We sat on the bench and started random talks about everything except what we thought about.
He then started using his phone and I was beginning to feel ignored. He on a spur of moment stopped and stared me and mentioned about our chats and phone calls
"How it started"
"How it became more Frank and comfortable"
"How good friends we became online but never met in real life" strange isn't it?
Then I told him I have to leave and the 'awkward silent moment' and he finally spoke "yeah"
We shook our hand and he refused to let me go
So I smiled and left his hand and eye contact and stood in the row
The bus started moving and I saw him standing there only, shrugging his shoulder and leaving that place.
That was my first and last with him or anyone!!
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
I was flying home from Denver
and the man next to me ordered 3 double vodkas
slipping the stewardess a hundred bucks
by the end of the flight he was asking me
to come home with him
he had a sheepskin bed throw
that would keep us perfectly warm
this chill winter night
I refused
called him a drunk freak
and giggled when he stumbled down the escalator
and split a **** in his forehead
that cracked like
like Easter
smothered in chocolate frosting
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
A wicked woman told my love, **** him and you will be free."
My love paused, and the wicked woman's old twig of a finger pointed off to me.
Love walked to me with tearful eyes, as if she had no choice.
I smiled wryly and told her in the softness of my voice, "Let it be done, and be free.
No sword is long enough to show my love for thee. No dagger, short enough to match my heart's beat.
So please my love, take your choice of my death. Choose what would be fit."
She didn't hesitate, just cry. She, slowly lifting a mirror from the dust.
I don't know why I felt I must, but I wiped the tears away just to savor her touch.
I looked into her sad blue eyes, just for one more glance. Then I shut my own.
I could feel her lift the mirror, this was her chance, let it be known.
A crashing blankness came down on me, soon after the last things I heard.
"I'm moving up, and you're moving down." These were her last words.
I didn't understand them then, but now I think I know.
She will one day be in the warm light, while I'm still stuck in the cold indigo.
I'd always run up the down escalator, like a crazy kid.
She always said, one day I'd trip.
And now I finally did.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
City rush me
Pretty push
Did he see?
The wish on
Hard on_____
Sunday I thought
A rush of pluses +++
He won
Be on time if not - - -
Monday be
good to me
Rumors
Fantasy thoughts
I am
What I am
Not Popeye
Going day back
I need a third eye
I am
All free
Robin
Bird
From
everyone
Wait!!
Don't rush me
I love everyone______*
Newspaper's
Sunday
Daily
News
Poem
touchdown
My poem stood
With the others
I bowed ((Gladly))______
Waking up
To a Racers- mouth
Ray____ speed lover
No homework
All game
Sunday____
Candles burned
The House flamed
"Procrastinator"
I'll be back
"Destroyer-Terminator"
Coffee drug me percolator
He April fools her
Shopping Sunday
right up magnifying
dress
He is back
Not the future
Smart *** tricks
On the Escalator
He Jeremy irons out
her clothes
That's it!!!
Never rushed
on Sunday
To make
a mob hit
The call girls
Busy- tight pants
So Panicked Monday's
religiously
Hooked in
Scientology
So ****** in
Not to ever kiss
her on a
Sunday
He bunked into ((God))
Poem ritual bunk bed
Well NYC
Cabbie, he
will
never
take it
on Sunday
The big game
crazies
The flower
shops
of horror
Emptied
out with
Moms
Tiger
Lillies
Smelling
Mad Men hungover
Rush hour
Tv movie
Hangover
Jet game
Sprinkler
shower
Opening up
The door to his
apartment
Big Girly
hoarder mess
After a
long talk
night
Saturday Night
Brooklyn
The Disco Queen
bridge-sight
His Mom
is still oiling
His BMW Racecar
with
Hot fire Crisco
he
will never
be
rushed
out the door
His car
never
starts
Sunday
or a
Monday
Teased on
Tuesday
Wednesday
shes wild
Thursday
Ladies
drink
for free____
She got
her husband
to buy
her cushion
cut square
On Sunday
Do it or dare
She's
hanging
low
Times Square
Girly rough
Brooklyn
tough
Channel
blush
On Sunday
he is so
wired bushed
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
little girl, you better hold on
hold on tight to the charcoal
sturdiness of a railing, to the
warmth emitting from the
barrier of your father's arm, for
the bus would bring you there
once, twice, a hundred times
to the first turbulence of a
flight you are onboard from the
very start, and like that tedious
twenty-two hours to america
like the cousins who followed
the eldest, coolest brother up
hanging on an escalator track
turbulences come one, another
until the odyssey sews to a close
along with your shredded dreams
your corrupted perceptions, your
wrinkles, your bruised, weary heart
which would thus lay within your
burnt, soulless corpse
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
It just dawned on me.
This whole time
I've been trying to go up
unknowingly walking,
on the escalator that takes you down.
No wonder
life
has been at a stand still.
How else
could a person
walk in the same direction for years on end
without going anywhere.
Then
you have those people
who barely take two steps,
and they're there...
Makes so much sense now.
Word to the wise -
walk a path
that's a little less
hi-tech.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
Joy ride spotted
Keep cool
Don’t run
Concentrate
Here we go...
Riding
Beaming
Ear to ear
Five and flying
Total joy
Up or down
Every time
Every f-ing time
Thank you Charles Seeberger
© 2019 MJL
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 7:47 PM UTC
painted frowns on the sunday town
peddling backwards on the underground
sinking slander
thunder-strikes that planned her
slap up shower towel
bloom-faced scowl
kissing kissing kissing i turn my eyes down
beautiful sunlight
road sign canvas
hunger and caffeine fix
walking towards to busier stores
oxford street in the middle of october
remembering my birthday wasn't just for me
relaxing on the submarine
escalator down blue and brown
blue change to black
southern bound
dishwasher sandwich
tea cup bandage
the simple and effective afternoon
bound by thought posts
wandering from my host
tormenting and enlightening
silence and the noise she keeps
playground heartattack
softly spoken words are back
forget to smile on sunday
higher in the afternoon
monday brings a chorus swoon
bluejay on the roof above
sinking in slumber of my forgotten ...
what you did is yesterday
let go of that and this moment underway
forgive forgive forgive and sigh
smile upstairs and wave yourself bye
all i want is to see is myself through my mothers eyes
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
He is who you want to see at the airport,
half asleep, pastel sweatshirt half zipped.
Half length shorts ending just above the knees.
Eyes matching the green and blue abstract swirls
patterned into the carpet to hide passenger sick-up.
The background to travelling japanese circus photos,
they’ll look back in their scrapbooks,
past the ponies on the baggage carousel,
see him waiting for the delayed international arrival.
Stiff legs tread quietly down grey hallways,
stringing a stickered suitcase along moving walkways,
thoughts caught between continents, in escalator’s teeth.
Tiptoeing over the hot coffee spilled like oil,
the taste of morning breath clinging to the back of the throat,
chalky as chilled ashes, abandoned and unswallowed.
When the taxis are cold and the day’s been worn out,
before it’s even begun; patchy fabric stretched over toes
rubbing thin on the inside of your shoes,
he’ll circle your head like a daisy crown.
To hold the tiny scars on his broad shoulders,
traces blemishes like a mine sweeper,
would be like orange juice at 40 000 ft.
Intimate in a way only TSA agents know how to be,
looking for explosives behind the ribcage, to the left.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
slow time on the escalator
easy baby;
a life of leisure
and idle moments...
tra la la la li
head held high and proud
one foot on one step
and one foot lower:
it’s the picture of grace and ease;
it’s cool baby
stand leaning
with no care in the world
chatting with your friend
and let your new floral skirts
wipe clean the glass sides;
life’s a breeze
on the escalator,
fashion baby
hands on the handrail
and the other waving at friends
waiting at the end;
shake hands when you’re down
and pass the germs on
to your cheerful buddies;
O life’s a breeze
on the escalator,
bouncy baby
it’s like a slow-motion movie
this chic life on the escalator
as still as when you stand window-shopping
gazing at new lingerie on display
like admiring a field of flowers:
O live the moment
baby,
this escalator life’s cool and easy
slow time on the escalator
easy baby;
a life of leisure
and idle moments...
tra la la la li
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 7:02 PM UTC
The tube lift mounts,
sap in a stem,
And blossoms its load,
a black, untidy rose.
The fountain of the escalator
curls at the crest,
breaks and scatters
A winnow of men,
a sickle of dark spray.
2k
If, one day, a fairy went to my room and grant me a wish, I would ask her to give a one day tour at fairy tale land.
First, I will seek Cinderella and introduce her the new released washing machine. I will give her an elegant Primadonna shoes and create an escalator in Prince Charming's castle for her convenience.
Next, I will wake up Aurora from her nightmare with my full blast metallic rock music. I will give her the gift of gorgeousness and she will be called "The Sleeping Gorgeous".
I will look for Rapunzel's hidden castle and give her a new pixie cut hair. I will suggest her to have an elevator in her elevated castle. I can endorse her Prince the microphone, so it would be effortless for him to shout "Rapunzel! Let down your hair".
I will also go to Snow White and add bananas, mangoes and cream to her apple and give her the recipe of fruit salad. To maintain her white skin, I will give her BB cream and cherry red lipstick from Mac, for her kissable lips.
Lastly, I will take a photo with the fairy tale characters and post it on Instagram, with a caption "TOUCH DOWN! FAIRY TALE LAND"
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
As Kids
We run up the down escalator
And down the up escalator
Enjoying
Playing
Living our days happily
Now
As adults
We walk up the up escalator
And down the down escalator
To get places faster
To do work
No more joy
No more play
But sometimes
If you look closely
Once in a while
You can see a flicker of joy
Across an adults face
Hurrying to the almost departing train
Doing their own little victory dance
When they make it before the doors close
Then they sit
And get back to the office
To get back to their desk
To get back to life
And it’s gone
And it remains just a glimpse into their past
As they sit
And make a future for themselves.
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 10:54 PM UTC
The sound of small plastic wheels
On the ridged metal lip of an escalator
Bookends each trip between home and birthplace.
The first two uptempo, eager
To race to the smell of marble and leather,
Perfectly cooked fish and pastries with blueberries
The next two, piano, as I cross back,
Result of exhaustion, arms full of clothes and sorting small bottles into bags.
But on exit
Not due to vents, air conditioning, or the sensory assault of shopping under halogens,
Home smells of rust.
Of dirt and smoke - burnt.
Home smells more damaged and ****** up than its neighbour
And it's apt position on the map
Behind our back
Peering over the shoulder of the small ursa, overbearing and controlling.
But it's not the smell of burning petrol and tissue in glass,
Nor riot shields and plastic armour,
And only slightly of over emphasis on Northern Irish poetry during exams.
It's the stench of friendships, bouquet of break-ups,
Awkwardness and overconfidence,
Fake tanning and too much tea.
And like bonfires and cigarette smoke,
Burnt wood and tobacco embers,
It's the one perfume I can't get out of my clothes.
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 9:25 PM UTC
a thigh gap
a peering spine
a cat eye
a cerulean highlighter
all of this and more
all of this, yours
21 mind-blowing *** tricks
5 ways to convince your doc you've ADHD
all of this and more
hack your closet
hack your pantry
your cellar door
all of this, yours
an e-thank you note
Facebook status remorse
an it's complicated
all of this and more
self-checkout
automatic hand dryer
automatic towel dispenser
automatic doors
all of this, yours
ask Siri where to bury the body
ask Jeeves where to buy the Molly
Google "the triumph of death"
and salute it with Bacardi
all of this
all of this
42 celebrities who used to have braces
8 Instagram hotties we love
42 gin recipes sure to inspire envy
all of this and more
how to love yourself
how to be a gentleman
how to make sure you marry the one
all of this yours
******* that read Angel Off Duty
boxers that read Reporting for Duty
ride the escalator all the way to
Jesus's heaven
fist bump Little Richard
and that kid from Malcolm in the Middle
watch St. Peter wave all the **** sorority girls
who've recently died in drunk driving accidents
to the front of the line
breathe, in from the nose out from the nose,
pick up a copy of Men's Health and read
an article titled
69 ways to incorporate gravy into the bedroom TONIGHT
all of this and more
all of this, yours
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
It was late at night, And
It was dark outside, where
the lights from the train were
flashing and flickering on
the underground walls.
The station arrived,
We were alone.
The empty station walls
were illuminated with
broken, glimmering neons
along with its buzzy sound,
As we were walking down
with our grasped hands
towards the exit on
a shutdown escalator.
It was so silent a time,
Even, our thoughts
could be heard, as
mine was saying
of the station. The station,
Where it all started someday,
ended once for a while,
But will now end soon.
For ever.
We left the station,
Where she went another way,
And I waited for a ride to home,
which never came, But
The streets, the bridge, The trains
were sighing on me. The ones,
I will never arrive, never ride.
Still, the long whistle, will
once more, force me back,
Down the memory lane
As a tear will wash the dust,
off my old shoes, that I will
Never wear again.....
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
We’re at the shops
and Tim runs off of to the escalator
and Mum shouts to him:
You stop there!
And Tim freezes
like ice got hold of him
And Mum pulls out
the flap over the pram
and helps baby Didi
with the milk bottle
and I scream to Mum:
*Let me go;
I want to go to Tim!*
But she pulls hard at the rein
and I can feel it tighten
round my waist
a little
And I scream:
Mum! I want to go!
And she says:
*Jill -
be quiet and still
as my shadow!*
And from the distance
Big Tim screams:
Mom! Can I go?!
And Mom screams loudest:
*You come here
and stand right beside
your sis Jill!*
And we’re all together again
baby in the pram
Mum standing beside
and me on the rein
And Tim sulking at the side
And nobody else
from the crowd dares
come near
for they all know
my Mum -
she’s Wonder Woman
she’s Super Hero
cos my Mum’s supermom
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
You called yourself a man, swinging on the lion with your frostbitten breath
But I anulled what you said, when I saw that the lion was but a mule, and the frostbite just the smoke from your cigarette
You said you hunted demons in the chasm going down, hunted demons from Hell in the chasm going down
But I saw you selling her things in the pawn shop down on East
Are the demons merely what her illness represents to you?
You whispered in my head that you could save me from this ****** bath
And take away the faucet that I want
But it’s coming back, another promise that you broke
Are those ashes of surprise blanketing the cancer that you smoke?
Remove your shoes at the door, leave her eulogy lying on the dusty kitchen floor
Go ahead and board the escalator; take your musics with you
You are not my savior, not the bargain that I asked for
Just a martyr for whatever cause you decide to **** today
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
Put down the taco. Eyes close. Then - Zooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmm!
My body at this point - already melted into the chair - head whirling cold - loozing touch hehe
Oh! Don’t leave without saying goodbye! - I said this to the infinitely expanding black void that-
“I’ll be back. I have to unlock the final triforce. It is locked behind a backlit Pluto.”
Clearly we were in a Mexican restaurant
But
The gods were clearly on his side with that pink **** and all so this chromium dude was on to
something - ope! My powers disappeared! I guess my time is up in heaven.
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 11:26 PM UTC
Great professions
Great foundations of thy nation
To them we look up
A brainwave for every aspirant.
Beggars, unemployed
Criminals and those who are sick
Bed-ridden and with counted lives
They, who are in need.
If we look up to people
Do we also look down to others?
If we are great contenders,
Are we also great in making others feel low ?
We choose to upgrade lives
While in the stairs, our views are on pinnacle
The hub was to escalate
At times, forgetting to where we came from.
What's the point of attaining positions ?
Or even being the crest in the nation's list ?
We indeed are people with the same blood
The same dreams , yet with mixtures of line ups.
To be great , one must serve
Great leaders starts from being great servants
For He who saved us became a servant first
He didn't boast His power and authority
He didn't look down to others
Instead, He lived with them
To those who are oppressed ,
Abused and neglected
By the ever-judging society,
You are the God's centre .
We must have the eye
To see things the way He sees them
The heart that feels
With compassion and sympathy* to others.
Love God
Love others
Show mercy and care.
7/9/14 (@xirlleelang)
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC