"fives" poems
1. Had you a viral video,
you’d watch it
more than once.
2. Instagram hearts
make you smile,
even from strangers.
3. Which would
you rather:
***
or
Zuckerberg
friending you
on Facebook.
No, this isn’t a Cosmo quiz —
it’s a social experiment.
Because no one ACTUALLY
answers these questions honestly
without looking like
that ****** at the pool
trying to get as MANY
high fives as possible.
Yet, we all do it.
Alone or in public.
Day or night.
LED screen spice up our lives.
It was probably
best embodied
by that girl taking
selfie
after
selfie
after
selfie
after
selfie,
filmed for minutes
on the way to school,
the video soon posted,
by her dad
trying to teach her a lesson?
Or trying to get attention?
Either way, he might as
well have hashtagged it
#socialsuicide.
Like most humor
we laughed at her
because we are her.
We see a dripping
characterture
************ to
itself in public.
Wait, it,
sounds wrong
when you name it.
But there is
a name for it:
Digital ************
aka
Self-adoration
aka
Narcississism.
You won’t agree
that you do it too.
But I’ll bet
most of you
get excited
thinking about
notifications too.
Why is that?
You’d never admit it.
You can say
I smelt it, so I dealt it.
Call me a preacher,
a hater, or a hypocrit.
But I'd rather you call me a
digital masterbater too.
And then remember the last
time you opened Instagram
or Facebook
or Twitter
and took a selfie
or hashtagged something
or posted a status
that your still breathing.
How long has it been —
a minute, an hour, a day?
Now try making fun of her.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
The Cross, the Cross
Goes deeper in than we know,
Deeper into life;
Right into the marrow
And through the bone.
Along the back of the baby tortoise
The scales are locked in an arch like a bridge,
Scale-lapping, like a lobster's sections
Or a bee's.
Then crossways down his sides
Tiger-stripes and wasp-bands.
Five, and five again, and five again,
And round the edges twenty-five little ones,
The sections of the baby tortoise shell.
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Then twenty-four, and a tiny little keystone.
It needed Pythagoras to see life playing with counters on the living back
Of the baby tortoise;
Life establishing the first eternal mathematical tablet,
Not in stone, like the Judean Lord, or bronze, but in life-clouded, life-rosy tortoise shell.
The first little mathematical gentleman
Stepping, wee mite, in his loose trousers
Under all the eternal dome of mathematical law.
Fives, and tens,
Threes and fours and twelves,
All the volte face of decimals,
The whirligig of dozens and the pinnacle of seven.
Turn him on his back,
The kicking little beetle,
And there again, on his shell-tender, earth-touching belly,
The long cleavage of division, upright of the eternal cross
And on either side count five,
On each side, two above, on each side, two below
The dark bar horizontal.
The Cross!
It goes right through him, the sprottling insect,
Through his cross-wise cloven psyche,
Through his five-fold complex-nature.
So turn him over on his toes again;
Four pin-point toes, and a problematical thumb-piece,
Four rowing limbs, and one wedge-balancing head,
Four and one makes five, which is the clue to all mathematics.
The Lord wrote it all down on the little slate
Of the baby tortoise.
Outward and visible indication of the plan within,
The complex, manifold involvedness of an individual creature
Plotted out
On this small bird, this rudiment,
This little dome, this pediment
Of all creation,
This slow one.
11.7k
yesterday, I caught my words crying
not out but within.
cryptic and concealed no more
as the rain poured up
and the ice melted shut. The muscles
isotonic strain kindles heart filled
hurtful strength as
endurance accelerates.
Wasted ones and fives
on groped lonely women.
The ******* forgot the fishbowl
and his keys on government steps
but remembered the leaky wineglass.
Total recall enforced
the key ring's silhouette rolls on by
looking for the keys
to grab a broom and clean up this mess
of market debt and ajar markets.
Ceiling tiles mist and swirl
and wait for mercy to strike again
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
yellow banana from the east
making discordian inroads
to vehemence this fall
won't let it turn black
or we can't go back
not an innuendo
put it in a spiral
make it viral
bring a melon
and hard drive
sell the lemon
for half price
buy no frills
airlines tickets
ride with the fruit
to unknown places
disseminate those faces
that munch on the yellow
that icky sticky mellow fellow
well the law of fives dictates its size
must have a five plus maybe a two or three
where did we go with thee can we please go free
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
IT’S COOL TO BE BLACK
I can use the word ***** even,
When I’m talking about a TV character
It is fun saying it’s because I’m black huh
And no matter what race they’re they start laughing
I like hearing the saying once you go black you never go back
Because it’s usually true
I like President Barack Obama because he goes
Against the grain of those negative black stereotypes
It’s tight how even though people hate on black folks
They listen to our music, copy the way we dress, talk,
Slang terms and the way we walk
They pay a lot of money to watch us play sports
I love how when people want get a good laugh out of life they:
Watch our movies, comedy shows, plays and poetry
I love walking up to my homeboys, home girls, family etc.
Saying: What’s up, giving daps, hi fives, making crazy handshakes,
And sometimes nodding your head as a sign of respect
I love being black because we are a beautiful race.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
Once a year they'll disappear
To a place their wives can't go
With chicken wings and other things
To watch the super bowl
A place where chick flicks don't abide
For testosterone rules this place
A place where a man can be a man
With no girly stuff or lace
A place so secret even the FBI
Don't know of its existence
It's guarded by lots of ***** traps
And mans undying persistence
A place where women cannot enter
I'm talking about their wives
A secret knock will open the door
To a land of beer and high fives
So if your husbands disappear
Without even a kiss or a wave
He's only gone for once a year
To visit his secret Man Cave
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 7:24 AM UTC
Last week, Cortney moved into a four story apartment
with seven twenty-something year old roomates, all boys.
The men share the first three floors.
while Cortney has the enire top floor to herself.
I spent the night there saturday night.
And around 10:00pm
a twenty-three year old boy
Blonde, baby faced, named Kevin Smith
stumbled drunk into Cortneys penthouse room.
Kevin smith removed his pants, and crawled into bed with us.
Kevin Smith nuzzled into my face, pulled me close, and rested his hand,
firmly on my ***
Kevin Smiths breath smelled of *** coffee, (and a man who regularly brushes his teeth.
Good Job Kevin Smith.)
At first, Cortney and I assumed Kevin Smith was each other.
after further, mostly-unconcious, inventory of our limbs,
we gathered this was neither the case, nor a hallucination.
Cortney flopped dryly for her cellphone and shined it's light at Kevin Smith.
"What the **** Shouted Cortney.
No response from Kevin Smith.
"What the ****
We got out of bed and put clothes on,
laughed at how ridiculous it was
that a drunk stranger just grabbed my ***
while an unconcious Kevin Smith laid in Cortneys bed.
Kevin Smith sat up
"This is really telling. I uh..."
Cortney cut him off
"Get out."
As she turned on the light.
"Can you guys call my phone?" Asked Kevin Smith,
"No." Said Cortney
Get out of my room."
physically pushing Kevin Smith out of her room.
Cortney held up Kevin Smiths drunk zanax filled body on the stairs.
preventing Kevin Smith from otherwise falling down said stairs and dying.
Kevin Smith showed his appreciation by saying,
"High fives all around"
I watched Cortney strattle drunk Kevin Smith awkwardly, yet also motherly
down the stairs.
I leaned over the railing and high fived Kevin Smith.
"I just want you to know," mumbled Kevin Smith
you guys are my friends.
You don't need to.. I got this".
"No, you really don't" said Cortney,
"if you fall down or throw up on me
you owe me $20"
Cortney delivered Kevin Smith to his bed.
Kevin Smith mumbled something, and Cortney returned upstairs.
"What the **** Laughed Cortney.
"What the **** I replied.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
As the gangsta dies
On a hot and humid Florida mornin'
A poor grievin' young wife is torn
This is ghetto
And his crew cries
Because if there's one thing that they don't need
It's another corner boy to bleed
This is ghetto
Society, don't you understand
The hood needs a helping hand
Or they'll grow to be all angry young men one day
Take a look at them and me,
Are we too black to see,
Do we simply shut our mouths
And speak in another way
While the hood rolls
And an inspired young boy with a funny jive
Deals on the corner as he collects high fives
This is ghetto
And his crib burns
So he starts to scare the folks with fright
And he teaches how to deal
And he teaches how to bite
This is ghetto
Then one night in conversation
A young rat screams out loud
She buys a toy, steals a heart,
Tries for fun, but it won't even start
Then her man tries
As the crew gathers 'round a stupid young ***
Face down in the pillow with a ***** in her ******
This is ghetto
As the neighbourhood sighs
On a hot and humid Florida mornin'
Another poor grievin' young wife is torn
This is ghetto
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 6:20 PM UTC
he is home
he came
from siam yonder
shouts from the ground floor
heralded his return
smile escaped from my static face
call out
his name
thunder, rain
dark face
swivels to the left
five foot ten rises up from the plastic chair as dark as him
i
expect a hug
but lo
i am not a child, not anymore
a protocol of high fives replayed
and the traffic of words return to the highway of arsenal, chelsea, man city
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
The Birds Fly into the eclipse of Mars,
They're lives tithe me by fives,
To the Man beyond those jailed bars.
Searching for a new place to call home,
Since this place is a waste of space,
For everyone an then some.
But with especial selfishness, especially me.
I need to beat my heart again, by meeting those I once found sweet,
Birds flying to the Eclipse of mars to be free.
Its futile of course,
But that is where beauty is truly entreated,
Into our lives of insignificant remorse.
Get me out of here now.
We'll go flying just like those birds, into the eclipse Of mars,
Just me and you, the gorgeous Queen of the Stars,
Your smile radiates my Milky way and beyond,
We'll navigate the asteroid belts,
And fly through the black holes,
Because like those futile birds,
We just want to be free.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 12:51 AM UTC
I know I didn't treat a lot you right
I'm a closed book with a big bad padlock on it
maybe you could say trust issues
but **** it I love you guys
no ****
(maybe a little)
because no matter where or how I have been
I have had some great people there for me
to keep me walking along that tight rope
without the fear of a body full of broken bones
We climbed hay bales in Drax
and ran away from the farmer in his combine harvester
we let everybody's tires down
and we went to the club and stayed until closing time
until after there were no taxis left
walking four miles home at four in the morning
we had a laugh mate
And to my Yankee friends
The rest of the world may hate you
but I don't
(much)
video games all night
ding **** ditch
homecoming and prom
and smoking cigarettes behind best buy
whole days spent on a couch laughing harder than we were high
the bowl we bought together
aptly named Willem Defoe
Marathon movie nights
post virginity loss high fives
telling me you were proud of me
for how I handled my parents' almost divorce
And I'm a cynical, ******* introvert
and at times I never want to see a human being ever again
but when that feeling fades
you guys are the first people I text
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
Sven and Olie died and went to Hell. After awhile, the Devil came by to see how his new guests were doing. To his amazement, he found Sven and Olie were still wearing their winter gear and seemed to be quite comfortable. The Devil asked why they weren't hot.
Olie replied, "We come from Minnesota where it's always cold. This is feeling pretty good to us." This upset the Devil, so he turned up the thermostat. Awhile later the Devil looked in again on Sven and Olie. To his surprise he found they were still wearing their winter gear. The Devil questioned them on it again. "You have to remember that we are from Minnesota and it's very, very cold there. This is feeling nice to us."
The Devil was even madder at this, so he turned the thermostat all the way up to maximum temperature. The Devil waited some time and then went back to Sven and Olie. This time he found they had only unzipped their coats, but still had all their winter clothes on. The Devil couldn't understand what was going on. The punishment down here was supposed to be the unbearable heat. It wasn't working on these two. He had to ask again what the deal was. Sven replied, "We are Minnesotans and we just got over a freezing winter. This is really great for Olie and Me.
A light flickered in the Devil's mind. He went to the thermostat and turned it off. He thought if the heat wasn't a punishment, maybe he'd give them some freezing temperatures. A little while later the Devil came back to check in on Sven and Olie only to find them cheering and giving each other high fives, happier than ever! The Devil questioned them on their actions and Sven said happily, "Back home they always said, the Vikings will win the Super Bowl when Hell freezes over!!!"
source: http://www.jokebuddha.com/Minnesota#ixzz3Ge5tdz3A
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
The tension is mounting, standing in line
Bass reverberates, the sound of things to come
Manic conversation and body language animation
Staying awake until we see the sun.
Enter the venue greeted by sticky collective body heat
The treble of the onslaught of noise now palpable
Without thinking, i begin to move my feet
Becoming one with the masses of bodies moving in unison.
The milk of the night, one in my hand from a mate
I drink it down as I become expectant
Excitedly waiting for my body to be seized
And exited by a juggernaut of positive emotions.
Every stranger is a one minute friend
Micro moments of love become my guide for the night
The music sounds like the songs of the gods
The rhythm and percussion of an underground ritual.
Every touch and taste and sound is heightened
An emanating aura of love surrounds the crowd
Smiles, laughs, hugs and high-fives
Throwing shapes and boogieing down.
As the party creator closes down the night
Masses pour outside drowned by early sunlight
All in search of a beach or after-hours haunt
To continue on their hedonic treadmill.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
Sitting down to lessons - no more time for tricks.
Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:
Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!
Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:
Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which you MEAN!"
Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one:
But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
Five showy girls - but Thirty is an age
When girls may be ENGAGING, but they somehow don't ENGAGE.
Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more:
So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!
Five PASSE girls - Their age? Well, never mind!
We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows
The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes"!
2.5k
there should be an island of awesome
and it should have surf
and i should move there
...
i think if you thought you were awesome all the time life could take a turn for the better
like imagine
everything as awesome
it would make all things such good vibes
like ***
burritos
high fives
all such awesome things but made with awesome
unreal
...
news flash, YOUR AWESOME!! bahleedat!
...
STAY AWESOME!
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 4:55 AM UTC
This is for the residents who remember
And for the transplants who
Have yet to be informed
But have got an inkling
Burque has gone from
Bustling to busted
And back again
Growing up in the 80’s
I learned about the
Varying degrees of “sick”
As my dad pointed out
The pekid pachucos perusing
Pharmacy isles
Attempting to purchase
Cough syrup with codeine
In the evenings
Driving home down Central
I would ceremoniously
Count hookers
My parents would
Precariously pack heat
In the trunk of our car
Or even in my mom’s special ***** pack
With the hidden compartment
For her .38 snub nose
Because you never know
Who will be in your home
When you arrive
That’s a given
When flop houses are
Interwoven with prime real estate
And barrio boundaries
Border the bourgeois’ bungalows
And Huning’s Castles
And residents rarely recognize
Or realize
That aside from the locals
The European Jews
Was the only group gutsy enough
To settle here
And create commerce
Despite risks of being raided
By Apaches
And they reaped the benefits
Off Roma and Marquette
Because the rewards
Turned out to be greater than
The risks
And up North
Where Sephardic turned Crypto
Conversions to Catholicism
Kept the Messiah’s spirit alive
But in basements
They still did Chi fives!
I was saddened in middle school
When I realized
That many of our parents
Were too ashamed of our roots
To teach us Spanish
And our
Schools ****** so severely
That most of us
Didn’t learn English either
But hey –
All you need to
Communicate while cruising
Are cat calls
And the thumping boom
Of the bass in the tubes
And the hydraulic drop
When they hit
The hot spots
From Tingley, Kit Carson and
Central to Copper
Each kid dreams that
His ride
Will be the show stopper
I could rant and rave
And rattle off for days
But bottom line –
We have the most
Curious state
With mysterious qualities
And in-depth histories
But most of us are
More concerned with
Bud Light
And Biscochitos
Con Manteca
Because it just tastes great!
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
Thomas, Tommy baby,
you are both hot,
and sweet.
Tom Cat you’re red hot--
when I catch you in your Tom Cat Strut,
sauntering across campus,
strolling like it ain’t no thing,
cuz it don’t meant a thing
if it ain’t got that swing baby.
So dig this, Tommy Gun,
you groove with the best of ‘em
when I spot you strollin’—
Your head, teetering left and right like a seesaw, boppin’ baby,
arms hangin’ loosely, swinging freely, wildly, go! go!
legs scooping forward in boisterous trombone slides--
Groooooove Tommy baby!
You’re Louis’s best blows--
ten feet from the mic and the Fives baby,
you’re hot, red hot,
any closer and I'll burn up!
Go!
But you’re cool, real cool,
and oh so sweet.
Super sweet--
in your beard like a pepper and salt shaker tossed across the table,
I look to see those rosy lips part,
and peep those pearly whites shinin' like the bell of Louis’s cornet
brandished in the air, under those ballroom lights--
you’re screamin’ Tommy!
Let me hear that laugh that shakes the room,
punches like Blakey’s bass drum,
thumps like Mingus--
T-Bird you’ve got that hard bop in your soul,
you’re gonna bop to the top TB,
into the third heaven where the angels fall in line to your swing,
that incessant strut that keeps the devil at bay,
Blow! Blow! Blow!
And I see you now Tom Cat,
up there in the clouds,
digging your way across eternity,
bopping and jiving, swinging and blowing,
in your faded khaki pants and worn tennis shoes,
loosely buttoned collared shirt,
tight rectangular glasses that glistened the bell of your eyes even more--
I gotta stand twenty feet away Tommy baby!
You glance down at me and wink,
rearing your head back to let loose that Mingus and Blakey
bottom-end laugh,
guffaw guffaw guffaw!!!
--so hearty and rich,
the backbone of every nervous first-year classroom,
and the sniggering seniors you continued to befuddle and dazzle
with your mysterious ways
and insatiable swing.
So blow, Tommy Gun, blow!
Go Tom Cat go!
Dig T-Bird dig!
Let loose Tommy boy!
Swing for us, swing swing swing--
Hot and Sweet, Tommy baby,
hot and sweet.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
We are not meant for this world you and I.
We do not thrive on making money
And dreary nine till fives
We are made of passion, dreams, vision and fight.
Sun soaked mornings and endless nights.
We're made of photographs and art
Words that touch our heart.
Melodies and beats
The people we meet on the streets.
The memories, the travelled miles
The conversations that made us smile.
Families, friends and passers by
The fleeting fragments that made us cry.
We are us.
Never pretending to be otherwise.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:01 PM UTC
THE SNOW piles in dark places are gone.
Pools by the railroad tracks shine clear.
The gravel of all shallow places shines.
A white pigeon reels and somersaults.
Frogs plutter and squdge-and frogs beat the air with a recurring thin steel sliver of melody.
Crows go in fives and tens; they march their black feathers past a blue pool; they celebrate an old festival.
A spider is trying his webs, a pink bug sits on my hand washing his forelegs.
I might ask: Who are these people?
1.9k
Creeping souls, Beware.
Look around, shes here!
The Ringmaster's near.
Prepare for thy seasons,
Spring, Summer-sault, fall!
Light, shine,
Blinding thy eyes.
Look, Look this way!
The Ringmaster is here!
"Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen, To thy Haven."
Of sanity's sphere.
Hello Boys and Girls,
Cackle, clap, cry.
Laugh away my dearies!
High air fives! Good one!(Yeah Right)
I twirl my cane,
dancing into the ring.
I tip my hat, Announcing my name.
"Ringmaster Jinx at your service!"
"Rhymes with Sphinx!"
Stampede around!
Bounding lions roar,
Elephants triumphant!
Sounding war,A war of the century.
A crack of the whip spurs motion,
Big cats rear, growling at the stands.
Ace makes them sit, and spin!
"Get on with it!"
Thundering hooves sound,
Rippling figures race into the ring.
"Horses freedom ring! Hail Gladiator!"
They rear raising their heads high,
Controlled by Vex and Zakirai!
Cackling children scream,
"Oh my! Look!"
"Clowns wheeling into the ring!"
HONK! :o) Laugh and Dream!
Pies fly,
Unicycles collapse.
Laughter erupts!
Pie war! Duck!
Spring, soar!
"Guide the war!"
Left, right,back.
One "SMACK!" Two collide.
I control the theme, an Extravagant team.
Even if, I'm covered in pie cream.
Dance, Bound, Leap!
Up, Up and away my sweet!
Dancing through the air, gravity defy!
Hysterical...Insanity.
Your leap, of faith!
Vex falls into the net,
Safe, grounded, relieved.
My friends cheer with glee!
Insane sanity!
Look around, see me on the ground.
Hello Boys and Girls, Enjoy the show!
Haven Circus, Sphere of Humanities finest!
I twirl my cane,
Tip my hat,
And proclaim my name.
"Jinx the Ringmaster of this train!"
Goodbye one and all!
Hope you enjoyed the show!
Laugh, Cry and Dream!
I take my cane, and hat,
Exiting the Ring..
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
They said that all that glittered was not always gold
And even your star-struck eyes couldn't be sold
for much of a profit; we were worth a little bit too much
even if half of us couldn't be bothered to give a
piece of the soul to the great big unknown
so you danced to the music and stayed within your zone
but your hips didn't quite move and your behind didn't quite shake
Exam season had you thinking that the last turn-up was a mistake
So you turn't down for everything to become a Top Achiever
and gave your soul to Cambridge because it's clear that you're a dreamer
And that's why your eyes became so suddenly star struck
And how suddenly a past paper was worth a little bit too much
But it was worth it because
Even if one year of your life passed you by...
Even if one year of your life passed you by...
Even if one year of your life passed you by....
...You still wrote your candidate number in sneakers looking fly.
So even though not all of us can become an A*
That doesn't mean that not all of us in life cannot go far
As written in the constellations are the particles of our star-dust
the whole is more than the sum of its parts and so are you my little star-struck
former IGCSE candidate.
See? You really were able to manage it.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
“Up top”
Is the
“Pucker up”
Of high fives
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 6:29 PM UTC
I stand at the altar
Of a red brick Victorian
Baptist Church
Kneel at Namas
With my brothers for Salah
In the Mosque
Follow flags to
The Gurdwara
Amrit Sanchar*
Everyone has their bodhi tree
I carry mine with me
-
Seated in a building
Singing songs
To an all knowing deity
Some hold arms aloft
Awaiting heavenly high fives
Others shuffle feet uneasily
It's time for the alternative sermon
Where we air all the doubts
Where hushed voices sweet singing
Make way for swearing and shouts
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC