"flagpole" poems
here comes the fishhead singing
here comes the baked potato in drag
here comes nothing to do all day long
here comes another night of no sleep
here comes the phone wringing the wrong tone
here comes a termite with a banjo
here comes a flagpole with blank eyes
here comes a a cat and a dog wearing nylons
here comes a machine gun saying
here comes bacon burning in the pan
here comes a voice saying something dull
here comes a newspaper stuffed with small red birds
with flat brown beaks
here comes a **** carrying a torch
a grenade
a deathly love
here comes a victory carrying
one bucket of blood
and stumbling over the berry bush
and the sheets hang out the windows
and the bombers head east west north south
get lost
get tossed like salad
as all the fish in the sea line up and form
one line
one long line
one very long thin line
the longest line you could ever imagine
and we get lost
walking past purple mountains
we walk lost
bare at last like the knife
having given
having spit it out like an unexpected olive seed
as the girl at the call service
screams over the phone:
"don't call back! you sound like a ****
5k
Her and higher education:
Those narrow walls
That building
with too many stares
All the talk about climbing
up the flagpole
Just to see
what goes up
And what comes down
It was so much easier
when they just wanted
To carry her books
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 6:19 AM UTC
i'm living on a solitary prayer
vandalized my ego to make it rare
with teeth stained with lies i've told
and promises lost in the cold
i tussle and taser to hide my lovers
and all that i am - a mess or tastemaker
sprinkling tersely on my mercy seat
will make my season go complete?
i pull the labrys & the throttle
artefact-sprites in uranium soil
declaring my truth atop of the flagpole
i'm the custodian of haute culture
a flotilla of judgment riding skyhigh
like dido's love-lachrymose down demise
they say "better rethink your useless vendetta"
but first we'd better get out of their siberia
where the masses doubt the angry fix
"ignore the (g/h)aze above the pyramid
if we only couldn't have any more
locked in dominican ****** wards
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
dark eyes on a list
as long nails clacked
on gray keys which
stuck with age and use.
I dreamed of love,
sweet hordes of
doves escorting me
to my desire of
love, love, love.
Such dreaming flags
floated in my mind,
wishing to be a hot ***
body made of rag,
a delicious mess
of hearty gags.
I wanted promiscuity,
in all its forms,
shed of all its innuendo
and flimsy disguises.
I wanted hard action,
man on man,
cheap rides and
cheaper thrills.
I wanted to be a little
pornographic princess,
a tiny-dicked seductress,
big ***** conductress
of all his passions.
My flag flew up as a
hormonal reaction,
attraction,
smooth bodied and
tight lipped action
running up and down
my jaded cadaver.
He wanted a **** *****
a promiscuous witch,
casting love spells and
**** glances to make him
itch.
He entered my love nest,
the back seat of a car,
to destroy my frame,
to rid me of my childishness.
My folly melted away
in sexyhot sways
of my hips as
my lips would say
lust filled nothings
that would be filled by
empty sighs and
****** filled
"I love you's."
My fingers froze:
as brown turned to white,
my body turned to snow
and rained down around
his swollen flagpole.
He was incompetent,
inept at the deed
and unable to satisfy,
but it was my ego that needed
this gratification, not my
libido.
I laid in the aftermath of the attack,
calm,
demure,
sad but
ultimately relieved
Finally,
I am ravaged.
I have soiled my nation
and salted my own fields,
laying waste to my youth,
my innocence.
I wanted to be conquered
and so did I receive,
being taken and
yet somewhat untaken.
I remember his voice,
that dumb accent.
I remember his preconceptions
of what this was supposed to be.
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
as lungs filled with air,
and brain filled with contempt,
my jaded body grew
to desire--
God, I really wish I had a cigarette.
I remember how he thought
I cared,
how he though that
anybody did.
I remember how,
I thought I had, too.
"I love you."
No, you don't.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
if it were possible to tag
an individual in a poem on this site
i'd syphon tulips from the ground
and lay one across her ear in the sunshine.
likewise, i'd talk lots of ****
and single out cowardly writers
hang them from the flagpole by their underwear
until they're humbled by their nakedness.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
Triumphantly raised colorful flagpole insignia dynasties
of this country and that country and other country
destroying each other territorial
like rabid animals and house pets.
Atomic bomb cat food will feed us full
in fallout by the end!
Meeeee-oww!
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
Boy: I'll pay you 10 bucks to climb up the flagpole.
Girl: ok.(climbs the flagpole)
Girl: Mommy Mommy a boy paid me 10 bucks to climb the flagpole. Mom: He just wanted to see your underwear!
...Next Day...
(Same boy): I'll pay you 20 BUCKS to climb the flagpole!
Girl: OK thanks! (climbs the flagpole)
Girl: Mommy Mommy today the boy paid me 20 BUCKS for climbing the flagpole, but today I tricked him this time I wasn't wearing underwear.
Mom:
A **** has a sad life. His hair is a mess; his family is nuts; his next-door neighbor is an ******* his best friend is a ***** and his owner beats him habitually.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
I didn’t know you could suppress something
so adamantly and at the same time feel it
so deeply, so completely.
My Head and my Heart are both
positively charged parts and they push
and push
and they squeeze,
Trying to reconcile like a
Mother and Daughter after Daughter says
“mamma, I’m not a ****** anymore”,
Wanting desperately to be given the a-okay and
rush together with a clap so strong
it would make people roll up their car windows and
call in their cats
cause there’s about to be a storm.
It’s already got winds up to 50 knots and
I haven’t even allowed it a breeze yet!
My rebellious child,
so unruly without Mother’s consent,
How will she react when Mother finally says,
“Alright child, you can come out now, it’s safe for us outside”.
But she hasn't heard the weather report and
She hasn't called her cats inside and
I’m afraid
because when that day comes
We’ll be the ones blindly content
in the trees near the flagpole by the lake,
because our sanity is no longer at stake.
And we’ll get struck by lightning.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
My life is a whirlwind of passing daydreams
and photographs,
those I've loved and lost
and what I've gained from screaming from the tops of buildings
after no one salutes to these ideas
that I've run up the flagpole outside.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
the only time we care about the poor
is in disaster,
there's been freedom for decades,
but we're still owned by slave masters,
incorporated trademarks
branded on our spine,
the american dream,
might as well be bovine.
flagpole sitting flappers,
never expect to fall,
'33 til infinity,
greed affects us all,
and it's more,
than a disease,
there's no atticus,
instead, great gatsbies.
and boo radley,
aint gonna right these wrongs,
all we've got are our words
and the will to stand strong,
and it seems we're just monkeys,
launched into orbit,
in spaceships,
that only fall once reality hits,
and i don't see any solutions soon,
we consume and presume,
that this is all a cartoon,
asterix fiction,
we lack conviction,
we lack the diction,
to speak our mind,
we are confined,
to the roles,
and the moulds,
and the holes,
that are made for our souls,
we stay out of the spotlight,
even when the times right,
allergic to great heights,
like madden going to superbowls.
ice cold,
a wise man said was cooler than cool
but these fools aint never heard of ice-nine,
it's the right time,
got the right rhymes,
who cares about these thugs,
i'm set on madoff crimes,
who cares about the dealers,
follow the money like the wire,
we're civilians in vans under apache fire,
and the cover-up is comin,
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the only time i'm hostile,
is within,
when i gotta smile
at these businessmen,
that are tearing us apart,
and ******** on our soil,
tearing out our hearts,
creeping like the mcboyles,
i've toiled in the trenches,
for most of my days,
as have the majority of those i know,
and we can't just quit,
we gotta get paid,
materialstic societies depend on dough,
so we dream of being on boats like samberg
the only threat to our fatasses is the hamburg
-ler, there's no cure, there's no care,
there's no health, it's not fair,
but if you keep on dreamin, one day it'll be there,
simply stare at the sun, things'll brighten up,
keep buying that product, trust me, they give a ****
fall into place, stand in single file,
and whatever you do, don't forget to smile.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
This is not a poem
a legend,
or myth.
This is my story.
This is my rescue.
This is my redemption.
This is a young girl who
wore her shame like chains
it never set her free.
Tugging at her clothes
trying to get the tightness to stop mocking her.
Wanting to be any body but herself,
be in any body but her own.
She wore approval like static electricity,
she always c
l
u
n
g
to it.
Even if it never came.
She’d scrawl the words
SOME DAY
in black ink down her arms
so when the other kid’s words
caused her to hang her head
she’d look down and remember
some day is one day closer.
some day is just one day closer.
She learned to carry herself like a flagpole,
it’s all she had out there.
Until she met Him.
He who canoed about her arteries and
wrote books about the things she couldn’t see in herself.
He who gave her someday, everyday.
Who showed her how to break the chains of shame.
Who told her the reason her clothes might feel a little too
tight, was because they couldn’t stand to be too far away from her.
She stopped hearing others insults and only felt His love.
His name?
His name is Jesus.
He saved me from myself.
I think we poets know best
that these words inside of us
can either be
anchors
or they can be life vests.
Choose wisely.
Someone else’s life could depend on it.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Paper ***** flew around the classroom
masquerading as a cricket ball
Hit as hard but managing to hardly go anywhere
The chaos in the class would soon end,
as the diminutive figure will walk in, book in one hand
Prying eyes trying to catch the laggards
shuffling back to their seat and
pretend to be very obedient and behaved lot.
The pinch, the hit on the arm with ruler, or the words
will bring about absolute silence,
masking the transient pain and shame,
that will soon followed by snickering comments and giggles
from those who escaped this time by their agility or luck.
The pencil boxes will soon start to play multiple roles,
like the actors in a play on a tight budget,
Transporting bits of papers with probable clues to the
questions put forth, the wrong answer to which,
could lead to repercussions of varying degree..
Like standing outside like a flagpole,
but failing to act as a deterrent to us incorrigible lot.
Lunch time will be like an oasis in the day of claustrophobic pedantry
where the darwinian principles will be set to test,
hands drawn towards the most delicious tiffin boxes,
the rightful owner of which will be lucky to even find a morsel
But however mundane and monochromatic sometimes those time may be
Looking back its was all worth it
when we could pick after 3 decades later where we all left off
and engage in hours of debating, leg-pulling, sarcasm, enlightenment
not withstanding the boundaries of time, space and temperament.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
throw fireworks at little brothers,
laugh, until they start crying, then hide
make mom cry, a lot. worry her, a lot.
make everyone who loves you cry, at least twice
run your ******* up a flagpole, steal a flag
smoke cigarettes at school
through bad ***** and insincerity
get drunk, then kiss everybody
borrow people's things
make them regret lending to you
throw up in such a way it'll ruin a party
throw up in someone's bed
leave it for them later
buy cheap drugs, steal cheap clothes,
exploit the good nature of others
spit at someone's feet
start useless arguments,
especially with bigots, especially when drunk,
especially when you need to impress people
get kicked out of something holy and sacred,
in the process, shame your grandparents
flip the bird, yell impolite things and trivia
at friends, strangers, anyone
set a plastic trashcan on fire,
leave it somewhere important
forget about it
pierce your face, more than once
pierce somewhere not on your face
show people you shouldn't
say trite thoughts, dress them up with $10 words
look pedantic, unsmiling, and snooty
put everything off, procrastinate
until it ***** you up, wonder what happened
finally,
stay awake at night, remembering all this,
then pity yourself, you ******* *******
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
A gangly youth with his dangling
Truths
Star Spangled
Flagpole
In the far corner
Summer nudists'
Cabins'
Cafeteria
Ladies not biting
Their webs
To his fly
Now noticing the nudist
Silver Theme
As daddy foxy
Ladies
are not goyles
Most nudists are old
And have let go
Fat shaming jokes
Turns into a game
Yo mama
so....
Cougar sells
Her Jaguar / Grand Prix
She so cougar
She's an expensive lease
For summer nights
Crap shot
Tossing
Fun
waste of time,
A gangly youth
Will spill
The truth
His danglings
Dip and spit
Viscous
Losing your ******
you
Star spangled
Flagpole
Can only tell
The honest erecting
The hard evidence
UFO sightings
Full
proof
It's in the pudding
Truth is ecstasy
Speaking deep inside
The gangly kid now
A wrangling man
Lassos a harem in his pants
His dangling truths did just fine
Gangly youth drunk off
Silken wines divine
Moist of kiss
Passion blooms
of touch
Honestly, the truth is
Quivering love
My Inner howl
Feel the earth move
Under my feet
Truth is
'will
always run to you...
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
I once built a ladder to the moon
To deposit my heartbreak among the stars
I gathered the slivers, the shards and dust
Then piled it there on the moon to rust
Next to a flagpole that never was
Under the brilliance of a blazing sun
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
At harbour’s entrance, a mile or more away
beyond high water, hunkered down
the old Quarantine station
on a flat patch of land
etched from the tangles of coastal heath.
The Barrack buildings besieged
by brooding sky and sea
and choking landscape – bush
thickets clambering the steep isthmus
backdrop of granite tor.
Chaotic angled peaks everywhere
indecisive stony sentinels
offering no certainty in the grey cloud
chiffonade of morning.
Slow, lingering clouds
wandering in confused circles
or passing over, casually
bringing squalls and showers.
Washing the pock-picked stone
to glistening newness of a palette
of fresh browns – tan, taupe, fox-brown
chestnut to black murky sludge
as if recently erupted
from earth’s muddy tender skin.
A cluster of cottages
a settlement of sorts with cannon ports
and flagpole and a fenced graveyard
still telling stories of pathos
pity and waste filling this place
with a strange, pressing silence
an atmospheric numbness felt
in dread and gravity.
© M.L.Emmett
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
On the West Side of a flagpole,
In December's later breaths,
The wind whipped Winter's white quilt
Burnishing words, words, words,
From the ***** metal monument.
Knives and pens had etched
Their love into malleable matrimony
Beneath the flicker of that flag,
But the etchings became wishes
Of Winter's White Wedding.
My fingers grazed the forgetful frost
As muscle memory recalled
A pair of initials and an addition sign.
Fresh drops of condensed ice
Hung within the ridges
Of our four lettered addition problem.
I exhaled a condensed breath
Which sifted towards the pole
then dissipated.
I glanced over as the moths
Attacked the only streetlight
Causing flickers of light
In the starless night sky.
A half second stare
Was a half second too long;
I looked back at the iron pole,
And the letters were gone.
A white wash of frost
Mixed with my exhale,
Covered the West Side of the flagpole.
Pockets of wind snapped in the flag.
I peered up at the streaks of crimson
And field of blue whipping in misery.
The seams of the flag's fabric
Became weathered and torn,
As I walked away from the flagpole—
Tired of dreaming in the stars.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
At 10:00 am, less than 100 students walked out to the flagpole
for our school's second walkout.
While there was less than one fourth of the population from the first walkout,
it was so much more powerful.
So many voices were heard.
We screamed, cried, laughed, read poems,
and all silently wished for a riot; wished for change.
We all wished that we didn't have to do this.
Wished that we didn't have to fear being shot at school,
the place where we are supposed to be safest.
But in that moment,
we were one.
We hugged, rested our heads on each other's shoulders,
and were one giant support system.
We are going to make change.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
|>>>>>>>'
wnedy is a FLAGPOLE
SHE IS A hagpole
a hhorsepole maybe tooooo
does she go poo??????????
wnedy is a pigpole
SHE IS A hagpole
a hhorsepole maybe tooooo
does she go poo??????????
yes im inspired
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Steeped in frigid air,
The winter breeze thrills me.
This sweeping force of change
Has left the landscape unrecognizable,
And barren,
Devoid of people
And as still as the breath of dawn.
This dreamland of snow and ice,
As far as the eye can see,
Tempts me;
I long to abandon dignity,
Control,
And launch myself into a giant snow drift,
Or create heaven on a wind-blown sidewalk
Staring breathless at the starry sky above-
Or possibly assault some poor passerby
With a snowball to the parka.
I just want to soak in the glory of the quiet streets,
The glimmering clouds,
Hanging,
So still in the night sky,
To skip down the streets as though I wasn't freezing my **** off.
I want to pretend I'm a dragon,
Glowering at the pathetic humans
With their bundled ignorance,
And their pitiful resistance to cold.
I want to dance,
And leap,
And play forever,
Ignoring the idea that I'm supposed to be doing something important right now.
It is a wondrous feeling,
To live in the moment,
To revel in the small magic of recaptured youth-
But tearfully,
I turn away from the window;
The vibrancy of youth is wasted on me
In these bleak and stress-filled hours,
Slaving away like the pitied adult that I am.
I can no more abandon my learned responsibility
Than I can turn back time to my long forgotten childhood;
Like the winter outside,
I am frozen-
Stuck like a tongue on a flagpole
To this monotonous drudgery;
Day in,
Day out.
But today,
I think ill share a secret with myself;
I still have that awestruck child within me,
And I don't need permission to let it out
To scamper across the blank hills of snow,
Laughing and shrieking in chilly delight.
I won't be an adult today;
I will let the snow take me,
And like the snowman I used to build when I was small,
Mold me into a new shape,
From a forgotten age.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
There it looms, a life like mountain/ sheathed in fynbos, all shades of green/ while the cape drags in reluctant seaweed/ and the wind makes contrails of my hair/
I ascend too with the heather, the rooibos and the hottentot/ We climb/ now a collective of exaggerated beauty/ defiant in wind, spray and fire/
There are leaves as prone as a flat lined heart/ reeds as resilient as a returning pulse/and we all watch the hope of yolk/ of a Sunday sun dipping into the ocean/promising to rise again/
We creep up the leeward and the windward/ ensconced in the spiral of a soul entropy/ determined to survive every rock and crevice/ to hoist ourselves up the flagpole of the cosmic plan/
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 2:45 PM UTC
I told her I had lost my mind
she said it won't be hard to find
Show me the place where you last been
and hopefully they will let us in
Follow me, I said in kind
she led the way I walked behind
'How will this work if I'm in front'
'I have no clue', me being blunt
I see it there right in front of me
I don't understand why you can't see
this place that has grabbed my soul
and laid it's claim with a large flagpole
She turned around and looked at me
it's then she realized what I could see
losing my mind is not so bad
I feel more complete than I ever had
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
I've written enough poems
about broken promises
shattered resolve, empty chances and
regrets beating at the back of my brain
with a baseball bat...
but not often have I written a poem
about my ability to speak
my ability to not shatter,
but sway resolve
with both a pen and a sword.
I am human,
and while my voice may not be heard
by the whole
I'm running it up the flagpole
to see who salutes
and if nobody does then I'll climb
to the top of this **** building
and scream.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
she stands straight and tall
hopes to fall
hits a ball
wnedy is a hagpole
straight and tall
hopes to fall
does fal
then she becomes a horseeee
and starts talking in morse
and we all say
wendy go pay
ur a flagpole!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC