"fixtures" poems
Iron bench, open sore
dragon rock, three in score
flesh on body, tortured soul
arms high, in hell's hole
Corner bulb, neon light
drake hotel, second flight
jolly pop, rizla plus
open flame, behind the bus
Broken fixtures, tully hat
channel swimmer, at the bat
blind alley, words of cuss
dealer waving, in a fuss
Grim reaper, boys in blue
super bee, armored shrew
****** sips, swollen glands
potpourri, on demand
Black death, huddler's arch
beat the cold, and summer parch
toothless grin, ****** glare
obituary, to be shared
Dead of night, decontrol
cheeva tar, black coal
east central, chinatown
mr. freeze, is coming down
Foot soldier, skidder row
chicken feed, and white blow
silver spoon, casted hand
demons surface, on demand
Frantic sounds, below the glass
poison waiting, to be passed
crack pipes, over coat
bodies flat, begin to float
Gospel sounds, from union square
friends gather, deep in prayer
guardian angels, now deployed
thornton park, without a void
Covenant house, in holy charm
welcomes all, with open arms
salvation spreads, on chapel row
kindness that, cannot be sold
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
Acceptance of another requires bravery.
Not the loud, brawling courage
brought and left on the battlefield.
Rather the quiet kind of bravery when
she catches glimpses of my personal darkness
and still stays.
Her type of bravery is when
the fractured light fixtures behind my eyes flicker
before going out, plunging me in darkness.
She sits beside me sharing that dark.
She not only sees my enraged monsters
but tries to befriend them, understand them.
At times I’m deathly afraid of myself.
But she never seems to be.
And that is the greatest kind of bravery.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
The shutter clicks twice.
"You take too many pictures"
But you pay me no mind.
The years fly by and,
As you begin to forget
I keep asking why.
Still you smile at me,
Though I've become a stranger
Lost in memory.
I bring your pictures.
"Remember when we lived here?
Or these light fixtures?"
I brought your tapes but,
Your bed is empty now.
Mourning your lost shape.
When you left I found
Your philosophy makes sense now.
There's so much beauty
That can't afford to be lost.
I look one last time
At the first picture
You took with that camera
Now gathering dust.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC
Not against the peaks of protest, these aurulent banners and jasperated jaspe so so jargoon! It's like I was suddenly alive, beat-stretched out of winter neige and into the pancosmic blisses of bright and ebullient spring, plugged with an agromania to abide this new formidable friend in the aeviternal beauty of she and I togetherness. Never to spill a morsel of a minute away from us again, upon the newly conjured spirits unto us both. To be amidst a cynosure of such affiation, to be in the temperate or tropical gardens whispering about our mutual love for flowers nad lists. This that precedes us, bright colliding auras in this newfound numinous kindling of us two. Watching it, making it happen- it unfolding before me made me naseaus with excitement, dithering what our next move out to be. I just wanted to kiss her face, her cheeks, put our hands together so quickly, just to let our amorous fug fill the room with silver albuminious smoke from our breaths. Miles below this, round the Earth to other places, there are the fixtures of bright and corybantic life commoved by other nations and other poised people of the light, that I should not be idle in my desires to usher myself into this grand and briguing introduction. So she said, we will play the question game, the inquiry game, we will state the mark, draw upon deep and fantastical recall, bring from our minds the most immense truths and share them, no matter now feral, or caustic, or melancholy- they will be shared until we explode with each other, our intrigues wrapped in our perfervid and amatory excitedness for one another. Too vast with wonder to be afraid of- am I such a fiend for such resplendence. That we could be vitrified in eternity in a veil of fulgurite. So at this nightfall, this acronychal of bloviating bliss, to write and wonder, incessantly in the finest of provincial matters to settle this garden where Thetis lives to be of her, two philocalists in verdant pasture, heaped with matters of the pen and the palm, in the droves of this beautiful advesperating eve- where first I wrote to you, and then I wrote you back.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
i am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams
i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run
learned nothing in victory
learned nothing in simplicity
complacently
snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs
just relax
mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.
mistakes make us
deliberate chaos
tossed
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings
hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
I always found freedom in movement
In the midst of steps
Whether from music
Or from the occurrence of those around
In moments of reflection,
I liked to think I was dancing
I moved in between these sequences
Fixed in the rules of performance
Unable to think past this choreography
Never able to make my own
But I felt it only appropriate
To move as others did
One step forward
A slight sway to the left
Another turn to my right
And back
And back
It was under this prison of routine
I found myself in
As in every other time
But something changed in these steps
As in now when I moved towards the next
You stood in my wake
I knew how different you were, placed to my standing
You worried nothing of such structure
Taking these movements as yours
Away from those who claimed their fluidity
Why you would ever take an interest in my polarized side
Quite the oxymoron; I still can’t fathom
Yet there you were
Everywhere I moved
Forcing me to look past these fixtures
Stepping past their simplicities
To find aspects I had thought foreign to me
You showed me how wrong I was in this definition of ‘freedom’
One step forward, now two
A sway left, although now with your hand in mine
A counter to the other side
Now with the opposing hand
The most complete connection
At least that’s what it felt to me
Now that I think of that time
There were changes greater than I could focus on
Besides those most immediate
I realize I never did step back
Perhaps the most significant change
As I haven’t since
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 10:33 PM UTC
Waking up the morning after,
I can only recall the excessive laughter.
The great vibes shared in one moment in time,
It was all so beautiful, the highest of highs.
****
My glance embarrassingly detects
the frightful fact the mirror reflects.
A bathroom tagged with the night's mistakes,
Rorschach like markings of drinks and rare steaks.
Always said "Yes", lacking all inhibition.
I wish last night I lived its definition.
So I readjust my head and all of the fixtures,
and pray to god no one took any pictures.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
She was the strangest football fan I'd ever met,
Between match programmes and leaflets she hid Nietzsche and Thoreau;
Philosophy being a bright passion of hers,
It all seemed so natural in her visage.
On days, she'd hum You'll Never Walk Alone
While turning delicately the pages of a new text,
Smiling at the words that appeared before her on the page.
Dorian Gray, she took time to point out,
Kept her fascinated—
But it was always going to be Nietzsche,
And the first time she strummed the pages of Thus Spoke Zarathustra it was as if the humming had turned to fire,
And she was melded with the page.
I would believe only in a god who could dance.
If you asked her who she favoured,
she would reply back with a chirp,
the Russians!
And hold to you a copy of Dostoyevsky,
Crime and Punishment, she said, was her fascination
And she'd as fluidly as ever switch back to the fixtures.
Never passion, always fancy.
It was as if viewing herself through a third party lens.
Her passion for the game,
As mysterious as her gentle touch on softer pages.
How could she love so drastically?
Football, her passion,
But her books were her mystery to all, to even herself,
And the quiet murmur of Nietzsche, her nectar.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
Rebirth!
Have to clean my house today.
Forlorn for near eternity.
Bathroom once depressed in dank dampness.
Embryonic before new birth.
Now reborn.
Put on dress of new.
Fixtures and fittings sparkling renewed.
Safely delivered took a week.
So glad it was not a labour of mine.
Walls painted as light corn-flower.
Forgotten archaic tragedy as shades of change.
They have evolved!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:35 AM UTC
I fill my lungs with lust
And fixate my dilated eyes on these light fixtures
The room has been spinning for hours
And I keep exhaling all of this seductive literature
Sometimes my tongue gets a little wicked
My fingers keep twitching
But that's only because the good lord knows how badly this love has me smitten
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
My father says he’s not sexist
He taught me how to work a circuit breaker
But only my brother learned how to install light fixtures
My father says he’s not sexist
He taught me how to mow a lawn
But only my brother learned how to work a chainsaw
My father says he’s not sexist
He bought me slacks for a program
But only after saying I look better in skirts
My father says he’s not sexist
He encouraged me to play soccer
But only got excited when my brother played
My father says he’s not sexist
He told me to be confident with my body
But he told me that I need to work out more
My father says he’s not sexist
He said that he’d love my hair no matter how I style it
But he’s forbidden me to let it be less than 5 inches
My father says he’s not sexist
He wanted me to speak my mind
But he rolled his eyes when I stated my opinions
My father says he’s not sexist
He insisted that both of his children were equal
But only his son gets rewarded for doing what’s expected of him
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
There are butterflies
painted on the ceiling,
and moths clinging to
the light fixtures.
I pluck out my eyelashes
and make the same wish
on each one.
She holds my hand
and kisses my lips
and leaves me
gasping for air,
and I wonder if she's
just as confused as I am.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
Last night I found the troubles of the irony of my life
The fascination of non-fictional figures and new strife
I ask death to keep his promise and bless those who took me out this earth
And if I die....by my own hands don't bless me but replace my curse
See when the lights are down low is when the truth stands behind
But lies of us is better in the light of the shadow we like to disguised
And she once asked me whats love with out recognition
And what's hurt with out any truth behind the decision
And what's your hurt.....
Or are you to ***** to express that emotional feeling
I look at her with pain and a disgusting illing
Because only me and the ones that hurt me no's the horror behind my revealing
My brother and sister promise that they will sing about me
And if my girl is dieing of thirst they will refill her with me
The story's we kept and the memory's we felt
My sister is my number one love
It's crazy how much emotions we delt
And I never new I had another part of me that was older then me
Met him when I was 5 now he's apart of my history at 23
All we shared .. was gun shots blood cots abused and welfare
And as it got better our separations will never compare
So where's my promise .. World where's my promise
You promise me opportunity and equal values
But curse from being called ugly and now handsome limited my statues
So you can understand that my middle finger is the only way I show my gratitude
And what happens when the lights are up high and the smoke is down low
Cuz gun powder is what I saw when I road on east New York streets
And who would believe a good kid like me
I was more into bitxhes **** history and open heart poetry
But mistaken and moved to the south
Showed me new patterns so I had to finish my own Brooklyn's route
I did....Taken what I learn in NYC and planted into these tre4 kids
But I never got caught but I guess I got caught for what I use to do did
And challenged me to fix the out come of a new level grid
Now I'm better off in the books of lost souls
And the scriptures of old scrolls and new roles
Still catching duty of my past fixtures in my head
And I can't seem to let these demons go even if I was dead
But ill follow these angels to see the games they play
Cuz ill never fade away... ill never fade away ...ill never fade away .. Ill never fade away....
Just sing about me
Just sing about me
Just sing about me
Just sing about me
................I promise
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
It's a bad day when you can't get Celene Dion out of your head
Titanic was good
It was not that good
I found a dried flower
Buried in Leviticus of my sort of grandma's bible
She must have liked that part
The only quote about Leviticus I've read on the internet is about stoning gay people
I hope she didn't like it that much
I saw a bagel get made
No one has the job of eating the middles out
I'm 23, this was a let down
I still like bagels a lot
I tacked the dry flower on my wall
Above the reminder that it's $3 a day to swim at the public pool in the mornings
I hope it's not a homophobic flower
I hid the bible behind Lauren Conrad's book
Lauren Conrad's book embarrasses me less
My sort of grandma
Is only sort of alive
I often feel that way
I feel most alive while dreaming of the impossible
Realistic dreams lead to disappointment
Outlandish dreams leave little 'remember when’s’'
No one hates themselves for not becoming an astronaut
A lot of people hate themselves for not losing 20lbs
Friendships are often measured in favors
That is all
That was not all
Favors are measured in sacrifices
Favors are not measured in reward
Today is a reflection of not dying yesterday
There is a one in seven chance that today is Friday
And it is imperative that we get down on Friday
Because the anticipation for this weekend is very high
If today is Monday all of that is no longer relevant to our conversation
I am losing weight
As I lose weight more and more fat girls hit on me
I do not like this as much as what I was imagining would happen
I have learned that being funny **** cool
Like I am becoming
Does not mean hot girls will hit on me
It means they will actually think about it before saying no
To supplement my soon to be chiseled physic
I am learning a Jack Johnson song on guitar
This worked for an acquaintance in 2006
Maybe I should learn Colbie Callait instead
The world would be better if schools had better teachers
The world would also be better if high school seniors paid attention to the teachers they already have
I don't know which one is easier to fix
My past seems rosier than my future
Except in the case of February 16th 2007
And now February 16th 2012
Corner buildings and modern light fixtures are my favorite aesthetics
My favorite building has neither of those features
Those features are not that awesome
Dead flowers smell like dead things
To combat this I spray cologne on my grandma's flower
I have never been to a funeral
I wonder if they febreeze the dead people
Or maybe they use Chanel No. 5
This is something I would like to learn more about
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
Write me a meal plan in bright red pain
And tell me this is the answer to all my problems again
Force down a tube through my nose and into my stomach
And watch as I flummox out of control
Fill this gaping hole inside of me
With drugs and sedation
Numb out pain and realisation
Force feed me promises and a smile
Only to regress back in a while.
Fill these cracks
With temporary fixtures
Concoctions of pills and other mixtures.
Treat me with CBT and psychotherapy
Tell me one day ill be free
And maybe if you say it enough times
Ill start to believe it
As much as you say you do.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
I am a raccoon masked self sabotage tycoon specialist with a self inflicted past-biased hit list peeked at through urban eye sags pulled down by years of troubled pleasantries now darkened with giant grey glass fingers touching the skies and casting shadows on their own concrete feet providing my disguise wrapped in a capitalist bow tied blessing,
Oh forward progression,
Pathetic Fraud 101 is in session,
Catch me if you can,
I am my own cynical supremacist nemesis thief in the black and white mellow drama trauma,
I play all the rolls,
And these places take their toll on my soul because fossil fuel herds have replaced the sea you see,
Peel your eyelids back and allow me to derail your ignorant yarn sewn seam day dream from it's crocheted track,
Societies a chemical fire train wreck attack,
The difference between metal and wool is fire and flesh,
They're bound to mesh within a Chinese children tears committee calamity tragedy,
You think your H&M; hemmed subliminal photo-shoot suit is moral free?
Or is it that you refuse to look past your own pictures hung around your face by D.O.S. operated framed fixtures screaming "ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME!"
Or whatever O.S. you bless your shrine with,
Our world is a glass screen neon pawn lit mess with a p.o. box address,
Completely impersonal!
The true core of this horror lies within your head on your bed that morning you woke up and realized
"I can't fix it!"
I applaud you for having such a great start!
You're heart will settle and the city sunsets will become beautiful once you're full of this revelation:
"I am not my own salvation."
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
these are
fixtures,
daily grinding superficial.
with little
resemblance to the
prophets we pray to.
desperate men with facile
tongues,
perfect answers
to petty, practiced
questions.
and they, being so many with
one discernible face,
one alterable religion,
liquid to the palms of
deathly thirsty children,
aim
where aim would do
the most
to damage
and we
fail
victim
with only ourselves
to blame.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 4:26 AM UTC
Meteorologist had been predicting that Hurricane Harvey would hit the landfall of Texas shore
It’s a reality storm no one should ignore
Mighty winds and heavy rain hitting the Texas land
Warnings upon warnings being active in demand
Some people decided to remain in their homes
But during the storm no one will be able to roam
Now Hurricane Harvey could last for days
The two words of the day, “HOME STAY”
Hurricane Harvey has winds of 130 miles per hour
Now that is along of power
Hurricane Harvey is a strong alert
It offers no perk
Homes are being destroyed
The hurricane is treating homes and fixtures as if they were toys
This storm is no joy
How Great Thou Are comes to mind
Rain, Wind and Tornados all combined
A message to Texas and the world to kneel and pray
This is Heaven ‘s communication being their relay
My heart goes out to the citizens of Texas
I pray and hope the people survive
Trust in God and that is what will keep them alive
God’s amaze in what he gives
As Hurricane Harvey conquers on
My advice to the Texas citizens is to remain strong
Stick together in fellowship is what I am talking about
Sooner or later Hurricane Harvey will move out.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
Treasury Casino - 2:30 am
From my seat in the smokers section
I can see the Brisbane eye,
the river,
and the performing arts center.
Streetlights are mans answer to the cosmos
"Everything you can do,
I can make better."
Once it was said that we were made in God's image.
Now we can safely say that God was made in our image.
I am in a quiet place of the universe, the night stretches on
visible through the stately
wonderous
walls
carved of old wood and sandstone.
I am in a suede armchair, winged for pleasure.
The ceiling in this room is twice as high as an ordinary room.
Circular steel ***** hang down like a path of bubbles
left by a leviathan.
My water was poured with panache.
Let me set the scene for you:
I'm in the Treasury Casino, this building was once the QLD state treasury, it never changed really.
Sitting next to window that overlooks the river, a glass of water sits to my left. The room is the size of a double garage, maybe bigger. The floor and ceilings are made of old wood, the walls are decorated with a transparent gray fabric that remindsme of smoke. An old marble fireplace sits in a wall studded with tiny lights that resemble stars or candles. Above me is a series of hanging circular light fixtures that resemble a trail of bubbles left by a leviathan.
This room was designed for, and houses opulence.
The TV plays Eminem.
Peter Garrett dances like a Parkinson's sufferer.
And looks like Disco-Nosferatu.
We have killed the night
and neon power
and infomercials
**** the romance
once held
by late night solitude.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
aimlessly stumbling
traipsing through gardens
A bruised and softened pear
a lump of clay
dented with fingerprints
Fixated between fixtures
hair made a nest
It collects the evidence
to place beneath the gallows
The incense drifts outwards
and spells out denial.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
The density of the tropical air can be expressed by the
absence of will, the abundance of moisture, and the
undeniable, impending, dehydration I know so well.
So yes, it's pretty **** hot, much hotter than the thermometers indicate.
Like I break a sweat bending over to tie my shoes.
Or how my town has more fixtures dedicated to air conditioning service than diesel and petrol
After this realization it will rain for just enough time for me to decide if I want hot coffee or tea
to celebrate the coming mists,
the dark clouds,
the cool breezes and
I anticipate shivering for the first time in a long, long time.
But it doesn't matter, because after a brief moment the skies empty
and bestow upon us blinding sunshine and even more humidity.
So I solemnly turn off the gas under the tepid kettle
like the unrequited lust of a teenager
and the few precious droplets of water that collected on the concrete disappear
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
Today was the day
I decided to clear out--
no real reason to keep
the junk that has began to rot.
Smelly like moss on a crumbly tree,
or the fashionable nonsmokers room
smelling like there's been quite a few
rebels striking back at a budget motel--
probably because they didn't have enough
television channels, to pacify these poor souls.
The inanimate fixtures are posed for display--
once complex industry
were personified to a fleeting idea of 'purpose',
instead smothers its surroundings
with the validity of indifference;
the forgotten hallows that
truly signify my closing hours.
Inside me now
are the cooing sounds
and the beating wings of fragile pigeons
that seek shelter from a world
trying to forget them;
beginning to call them pest
even though they are snow,
so they must hide within me
and survive with my blood orchids
that begin to bloom--
spilling out of me.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 2:25 AM UTC