"flashcards" poems
My math teacher was Mr. *****
whose math classes were so silly.
He would spin us in a chair,
and throw our flashcards in the air!
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 2:40 PM UTC
at the cafe on ruby toes and sugar pinch, we consent and reap the valdez of our perpetual cud.
we sip from octagonal spoons. there, we suture the fiend to the deed and the rail
to the runaway train. how else would you explain your dashing about
in the chum of our castanet. we cast our nets in the epibenthic fumes of our unusual loveliness
and sweat the little things that vanish from the canon our interesting.
hup to it. vie for the offshore drill.
suppose you grow a dead thing and keep it astonished with flashcards
and nobody says a thing ?
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
You are **** hits
that leave me breathless
spinning in colors
while we lay in your bed,
you are a slap to my face
with stinging red remnants
flashing across my cheek,
you are a borrowed
orange
toothbrush leaving
icy breath
on my tongue,
you are walks around
this
****** neighborhood pointing
out
the secret beauty in me.
you are hips wiggling
to blasting music
on early mornings,
and kisses
giggling across my
cheeks, nose, lips.
You are the library
with your thin rimmed glasses
and stupid latin flashcards,
you are scraped knees
and fresh tears because
you would never help me
walk down the stairs,
you are ****** ***
drunkenly challenging me
to go shot for shot
at 3 in the morning.
you are shaking fingers
angry, jealous, afraid.
You are soft snores and
bitten lips, thrown phones
and ugly screamed names.
a shattered window, an unopened
jar of peanut butter.
you are brand new
gray sheets, bodies drenched
in laughter and sweat,
an old flannel shirt,
a broken chair.
you are the things you're
afraid to tell me, the things
I see in your eyes.
you are honest in
the lies that you tell me and sweet
with your terribly harsh words.
you are a mess, a
completely
confusing, competitive
game.
And oh,
how I love
to
play.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
I guess you're right, I am a true romantic..
I daydream through the night and through the day I plan things
& these songs I write may help you understand things
I'm not one to talk but with you I'd try dancing
So if you want someone there to sing to you whilst you do the dishes
And someone who can take care of all your hopes and wishes
I'm not one to talk oh for you I'd listen
And we could maybe take a late night walk through the city's division
Oh if you need someone there to help you take the weight off
to tell you, **** you're beautiful without make up"
To hold flashcards for you whenever you need to stay up
in order to get that A grade
just go at your own pace...
If you need someone to do all of that then guess what?
I've always been,
just right here <3
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 3:35 AM UTC
Could you know enough to know that
you don't know anything about
any one particular thing at any
given time?
Enough to feel your mind first mildly
groping for some association about the
topic at hand, then scratching in panic
at its own gray walls for a segue into
something more familiar?
A subject change.
There sits in Spring a mournful child wishing
for winter and the necessity of layers,
the easy task of coercing his mother
into hugs because without them, he says,
he'll surely freeze to death, a phantom son,
a display case of old human progeny
from the time before love was outlawed
and before the babies were made with
chemicals, when they were made at all.
Those future children will die with no
souls, no prospect of ghosthood, no
morals and no literary merit.
They will flinch from fiction and pound poetry
into the ground with steel-toed boots, spit
on the remains, pretend to dream with their
government-issued flashcards, scenes
from movies projected on billboards in silence,
ears ringing in the quiet but for the
occasional puttering along of a society so
advanced, it doesn't know what to do with itself.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 10:25 AM UTC
Three children brought
Onto earth
Three children did
He rear
Three children made
From His own genes
From stardust we appeared.
From the foundation
Of our lives
He sent us to school
Possessed of his intelligence
And HE was NOT a fool
Great aptitude for reading
This is how he taught
The books my father gave me
Produced much
Higher thought
We went to places
far & wide
Hawaii was like heaven!
We went to Montreal
For Expo '67
Various religions
We were to understand
We went to see the kivas
In the native lands
We went to search
For arrowheads
We looked for
various traces
Of native habitation
Appreciating other races
He tried to teach me math
Using the flashcards
But I was into writing
So he let me be a bard
He loved the
arts & sciences
He loved agriculture
He grew up
deprived of it
So he taught us culture
We took the piano
He helped me
make a start
Writing my own music
He encouraged my art!
I'll read him this poem
We will then discuss
How he has the
GREATEST legacy
*For my dad has US!*
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
In hopes that this reaches you when you need it most
A message soaked in echoes, reminders, and hope
Lathered with the perfume of nostalgia
Floats back and forth between my mind and heart
Out from the arteries, back through the veins
Shaped and reshaped into paper trains
Thought bubbles and mind maps
All muddled into flashcards
Something in there might say: I have dreams for you
And maybe if in some way
You can decipher all this mess
You'll find the speech bubble, bullet point, and quiz question
written just for you that says in someway:
1 believe, and believe, and go on believing
Everyday
In you.
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 1:13 PM UTC
i hate those nasty little ***** of advertisement
that i get on facebook
about melting off my belly fat in "JUST DAYS!"
they show skeleton frames
and expect me to believe
that this is
pretty
right
healthy
correct
wanted
they are trying to teach me
like i learned
as a child
say a word,
show a picture
she will learn,
they say
i fear
that they are
right
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
Cameron u suk
When you get a hundred, you make me want to hit myself with a tractor truck
I don't even know why I keep tryin'
Flashcards is all I keep buyin'
You never smile
Kinda remind me of Kyle
Got a headache
Obviously my life was a mistake.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Do we use the glossary when searching the back pages of our lives follow the indexes when something perplexes
Motions making sounds ,representing actions & reactions ,lessons forming curiosity ,constantly seeking answers
Surrounding ourselves with sounds ,breaking into syllables ,basics as a beginning then hopefully turning us into detectives
Now lessons become narratives not always with a heart moving title ,but open feelings harder to bridle, days forming chapters
As new breaths begin in a nursery, mysteries are awaiting within the walls & halls ,nooks & books of depositories
From embryo to a first cleansing ,protection is constant ,warmth of blankets envelop similar to bindings encasing the fruits comprised on papyrus.
Opening the world through the first window ,light ,sky, flowing forms taken in with a healthy grin,integral parts of out future stories
The main doors as a cover ,silence is golden while the words are screaming ,what is first? a daily rag ,twirling of the mighty globe?
facts or fiction now lay fractured
Fondly absorbing phonics ,tasting the clicks or ticks & annunciations still samples for future refining
Labeled as language or merely absorbed as sound forming ,trying to become an individual expression
Flashcards as roots into an inner corridor, signals separated with commas dots or dashes ,awaiting future defining
Roads or paths laid out like aisles, alphabetized such as street names shelves as floors of buildings ,books as unopened doors to a new lesson
A long life search no longer monotonous as a Dewey decimal offered ,but click or a flick ,automated corrections leaving many clueless
Even building faith often based within bindings ,factors of fame or items for blame made best by those who clearly see the text
Holidays as often as book of the month ,b.m.i. becomes t.m.i. , forever offering lessons in hindsight ,many offerings to amuse
A mind akin to a vault taking in all offerings by default ,endless it seems for storage capacity ,Librarians or doctors can off a new zest.R.C.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
I did, I went to my spot, going against my plan.
I can also say that I don’t regret it in the less.
I can do what I want, as it's my daily routine.
I make the rules, so I can add new ones as well.
I also made sure to set my alarm for 5:30pm.
I’m watching WWE Money In The Bank tonight.
I’m gonna be watching it with my dad.
I almost forgot to do this entry, actually.
I got caught up in studying my Japanese cards.
I made FlashCards for all the Hiragana words.
I’m going set by set, that’s how my brain works.
I got the first half of the first set of cards done.
I mean, I think I do, and that’s really good!
I’m learning because WWE Asuka is Japanese.
I wanna know what she says, so I’m learning.
I’m a huge fan, as my dad could tell you.
I'm wearing her socks in case she’s on MITB!
I can say that today is going very well, also.
I still love the daily routine, and will keep it.
I’m gonna get back to my Japanese now.
I’ll talk to you again tomorrow afternoon, bye!
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 5:08 PM UTC
The black blues looking back at us
As we try to enumerate what actually is 300 billion in number
Stargazing you - beams a little brighter
Especially when you extend your arms to show me what you out-pass
The stars. The night sky. The moon. The universe.
Theres this unexplainable spell you cast
We’re intoxicated. Can’t tell if its the whisky or just the night
We’re isolated. The rest of the world is tucked in behind closed curtains.
And your mere sight, is the brightest thing tonight
Are we in love? I cant tell
You’ve always known your way around things.
You know the constellations.
You know that if you flip your hair one more time,I’d die in admiration.
You know how to tease between conversations.
You know this isn’t just infatuation.
You know your way. Like I know mine around your hair.
Your accolades melt my barricades
Your smile is my gatorade
Your laugh a grenade
And me, is what you've attained
You’re a bomb. And I am your ****
You’re singing to me. Your voice lets me travel through time
A cascade of memories flashcards
You’re an enchanter. Big time
We float through the night.
Arms extended for each other to lay upon.
Head on shoulder and eyes on eyes. Fingers intertwined.
We kiss each other one last time before the dawn breaks.
Its about time we leave.
Will I see you again? I dont know
but one thing I do know
I'll always have you on my lips
At least your name if not your kiss.
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 4:42 AM UTC
forever grateful for you and every little thing that you do.
kindness shapes every little part of you—
makes your heart malleable,
like the dough kneaded by ami
to make me her crispy wale parathas
every day when i wake up at zohr time,
when the world has already started for everyone.
but for me—
the world drops dead when you close your eyes,
and the universe becomes tangible
only when you open them.
at the same time as me.
your voice,
woven in gossamer threads,
wraps me into a cocoon
and then slowly, slowly unwraps me
until i’m a blue morpho butterfly
on her desk,
with a 10-hour mark on her baby pink timer—
matching his white one.
make sure you do one thing at least a day:
either the pre-med questions
or the anki flashcards.
i agree.
we’ll make the chat too spicy in discord—
with firing neurons,
and “i’m so proud of you”s,
and w’s.
i’ll make sure you understand the concept of resonance energy
by making you feel it.
so when i am electrocuted by the d key,
the numbness in my hand
turns into this debilitating blue numbness
in my baby’s malleable, precious heart—
and then we fix it.
together.
with all the scotch tapes
and the double-sided ones,
and the cardboard pieces from your drawers—
piece by piece.
a 4-hour call;
of crocheting,
moving in and out
of the seams of us.
we really did become a mosaic
of all the people that we love.
maybe talking about the teachers
in your khala's school,
knitting sweaters in the kitchen
for their loved ones—
made you feel like you could do anything.
resonance energy.
you carry the same energy
of all the people in your stories—
and with your gossamer threads
pull me back inside the cocoon
when you miss me
(when i miss you)
and fall back to sleep, holding me.
so close—
we're not even a heartbeat away now.
love,
i will find a way back to you in my dreams—
where you are in my lap,
and nothing has ever hurt you before,
and nothing will hurt you again.
call out to me,
and i will be up at 6:24
to get you off your desk.
no more apex without me.
we only play apex
when i’m in your lap as you play,
tracing my fingers
along the canvas of your face,
and kissing you stupidly—
until you are senseless.
May 1, 2025
May 1, 2025 at 7:42 AM UTC
Deja Vu Repeat
Locked in time renew a familiar view hitting replay of the same old rhyme
Not a dream as many might say it seems, or illusion and delusion or sinister scheme
Stopped in motion, fraction from a vision, not locked out similar to stuck in, lost in a ruse easy to confuse often crosses a fine mental center line
Full range from stored images, reflections of recollections left spinning in a round room made of mirrors, each a different theme
Grand or simple thoughts trapped abruptly unwrapped, even seen as sinister by a minister that wants us to repent, demons or angels, neither is divine
Old time feeling came again just to leave me reeling, Comes and goes how or when nobody knows, future thoughts cannot be foreseen
With a wink in a blink images stepping forward never a warning, moment of mayhem to fast to be a coward, another journey stuck in time
Mental pictures like flashcards with similar frames, same game on repeat with a new theme
Not a clue of when it might end, like an email stuck on send, never planned or something grand, thoughts brought forward from the back of our mind
Fast or painfully slow, icy cold or warm glow, similar paths along a straight row, high fall from a white wall, patterns and colors flash over then repeat, another view from a familiar scene
This incident another increment, fraction segmented placed on hold, splice of a memory, stuck on forward then reverse, just time that we did not rehearse
Explanations seem futile unless they have truly done this before, splice of a memory, stuck on forward then reverse, just time that we did not rehearse, Similar segment or unknown fragment, another glimpse we survive
Deja Vu is coming through will see it all again, when I have seen it all before why begin a familiar spin with an unknown end, take it all in as temporary rental on mental hygiene R.C.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 11:16 AM UTC
PRESENTING ITSELF
What will it be that makes itself clear ,exposed by removing it's veneer
Constantly flowing mind seeking ways to grow, hoping for something new to find
Much is on display calling us in many ways,visions are quick for what may appear
Drawing us in to begin our next whim,varies widely a frown or a grin,many ways something can be aligned
Constant concern,pick or choose, left for us to discern,finding true focus still unclear
Malignant mind set on unwind ,flashing fancy ideas like flashcards,so fast they become entwined
Past motioning into present, moments creating their own moods,what chord will finally adhere
Flailing about with mind's eye looking on, they stay neutral outside while the steady illustrious stream flows in our mind
Letting on with a glimpse or even a gasp,caught a true thought instead of it slipping by holding on tight can we be sincere.
Rapid conclusions almost like rabid confusion,adding weight on an already heavy brain flow ,newest synapses still unclear
So another moment in life ,set free or held back, what will be the part we grasp holding on long enough to be kept inside. R.C.
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC