"flicked" poems
She grew tired of her thoughts
and the weaknesses they had found,
So she flicked her embered cigarette;
and burnt them to the ground.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:59 AM UTC
Saved by the Sunflower
A very strong storm was arriving,
there were large black clouds coming from the east,
strong gusting turbulent winds threatening to snap everything,
severe down pouring of flooding rain,
as if the clouds were crying out in pain,
it did not seem there would be anyway to save the flower garden,
nothing could survive this unannounced exploding of nature,
this seemingly uncontrollable outburst,
something, maybe everything was going to be destroyed,
this day turned in to this night of hell,
the rain, the wind, the flashes of lightning,
this violent death would not be stopped this time,
then a small voice could barely be heard,
at first it was ignored, flicked away like a mosquito,
the voice did not give up though, once again it cried out,
once again it was ignored, brushed aside,
the voice continued gaining strength, it refused to be shut down,
the creator of the storm suddenly took a step back,
looking down to see where this voice was coming from,
it was emanating from this one lone sunflower,
it was the sunflower that had been given the name Perly,
Perly would not, could not be denied as she screamed out,
leave this garden oh evil storm, I will not except the outcome,
the outcome that you predict will never occur, we are fighters,
we will never give in to your senseless urges,
please wake up and hear my plea for sanity,
the storm started to weaken, slowly at first, but continued
gaining momentum loosing it's grip on this act of violence
until finally succumbing to this cry of desperation from
the little sunflower.
Gradually, the wind stopped blowing,
the rain stopped falling,
the sun began peaking thru the clouds.
Perly Sunflower had saved the lives of all the other flowers
in the garden, and the life of gardens caretaker.
A plaque is now erected on this spot proclaiming the
bravery of this little sunflower that would not give in,
would not accept, would not cower away.
The caretaker of the garden professes eternal gratitude
and love for this brave creature of Gods doing.
Thank you Perly sunflower
Gomer LePoet...
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Saved by the Sunflower
A very strong storm was arriving,
there were large black clouds coming from the east,
strong gusting turbulent winds threating to snap everything,
severe down poring of flooding rain,
as if the clouds were crying out in pain,
it did not seem there would be anyway to save the flower garden,
nothing could survive this unannounced exploding of nature,
this seemingly uncontrollable outburst,
something, maybe everything was going to be destroyed,
this day turned in to this night of hell,
the rain, the wind, the flashes of lightning,
this violent death would not be stopped this time,
then a small voice could barely be heard,
at first it was ignored, flicked away like a mosquito,
the voice did not give up though, once again it cried out,
once again it was ignored, brushed aside,
the voice continued gaining strength, it refused to be shut down,
the creator of the storm suddenly took a step back,
looking down to see where this voice was coming from,
it was emanating from this one lone sunflower,
it was the sunflower that had been given the name Perly,
Perly would not, could not be denied as she screamed out,
leave this garden oh evil storm, I will not except the outcome,
the outcome that you predict will occur, we are fighters,
we will never give in to your senseless urges,
please wake up and hear my plea for sanity,
the storm started to weaken, slowly at first, but continued
gaining momentum loosing it's grip on this act of violence
until finally secumbing to this cry of desperation from
the little sunflower. Gradually, the wind stopped blowing,
the rain stopped falling, the sun began peaking thru the clouds.
Perly Sunflower had saved the lives of all the other flowers
in the garden, and the life of gardens caretaker.
A plaque is now erected on this spot proclaiming the
bravery of this little sunflower that would not give in,
would not accept, would not cower away.
The caretaker of the garden professes eternal gratitude
and love for this brave creature of Gods doing.
Thank you Perly sunflower
Gomer LePoet..
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
The human soul was threshed out like maize
in the endless
granary of defeated actions,
of mean things that happened,
to the very edge of endurance, and beyond,
and not only death, but many deaths,
came to each one:
each day a tiny death, dust, worm, a light
flicked off in the mud at the city's edge,
a tiny death with coarse wings
pierced into each man like a short lance
and the man was besieged by the bread or by the knife,
the cattle-dealer: the child of sea-harbours,
or the dark captain of the plough,
or the rag-picker of snarled streets:
everybody lost heart, anxiously waiting for death,
the short death of every day:
and the grinding bad luck of every day was
like a black cup that they drank,
with their hands shaking.
10k
My hate is the unused love
The love that was not accepted
Everyone saw that quiet, lonely shell
But merely flicked it away
I walked alone
I sat alone
I had this love
This unwanted love
No one to give it to
No way to show it
So I learned how to hate
This love turned sour
Covered in black
Scrape away the darkness,
You'll end up back
The hatred filled me like love once did
And like love,
There was no one to give it to
Like always,
I was alone
So the hatred simmered
The darkness calmed down
And turned dark blue
It was sadness
Suffocating sadness
The muggy air filled my lungs
Condensation pouring out of my eyes
The love was being chipped away
Was there any love at all?
And here I sit
With a line for a mouth
And tired eyes
I'm still alone
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
I had been whispering brazenly in your ear all night.
Not even using words half the time.
A knowing smile, a finger edging ever closer to your womanhood.
When I flicked your ******* the first time tonight I knew I couldn't lose.
The nearest park.
The nearest patch of grass in the dark.
Covered in dirt, a train thundered past as you came, your ticket to be vocal.
You looked so beautiful right then.
I inhaled you one last time and looked up at the stars as we put on our faces.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
Just in the pubs and clubs
******* our own gear around
Seemingly, always upstairs
For weddings and birthday parties
Sorting out miles of wires
Well-worked practise
But when those amps were turned on
With an audible amplified thud
As switches are flicked
And their lights gaze like tiny red eyes
That's when I am ready
First number and the drums and bass
Connect to create new heartbeats
And now I'm into it
Not the man in the mill anymore
I'm the frontman for the band
And the music soars through me
As the night goes on and grows
The crowd has grown and is dancing
Gaining energy from the music
And feeding it back to us in turn
Now THIS is being alive
And so it was
By Phil Roberts
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.
putting the blade on the table, he
flicked it with a finger
and it whirled
in a flashing circle
under the light.
who the hell is going to save
me? he
thought.
as the knife stopped spinning
the answer came:
you're going to have to
save yourself.
still smiling,
a: he lit a
cigarette
b: he poured
another
drink
c: gave the blade
another
spin.
6.2k
I love da sound ya ***** does make
While slapping up against your sister, for Christ sake
Watching you all doing the ***** deed, doggy style
On ya momma's brand new, multi coloured **** pile
***** young boys, are forever slapping, keepin’ it real
While viewing ya ***** in ya year nine, high school classes
Even some curious gals, like to slip in a quick feel
While flashing their hallway entry, fancy gold passes
Da sound ya ***** makes, ya must be using an amplifier
With a **** load of flaming, boom-boom, bass
Next time though, try turning the treble up, as you were
And turning down that flaming bass, just in case
This mornin’, I woke up stiff, like feelin’ as if dead
Then flicked through the paper, my obituary, I just read
Didn't feel that great, after we had finished the missionary
Wish I was much more aware, like a future visionary
I haven't even ironed my clothes or done my face
For my very last day of this bright sunlight
Will I need to pack a jumbo suitcase
Or maybe just some shorts and thongs
On my mystery vacation, one-way flight
Da sound ya ***** was making when shaking
Was maybe way too loud for some, last night
It put me in, like a clothes dryer spin
Police came by, just to check that no one was pranking
With some spray with mace, just when I was about to sin
Everyone's got an unusual craze in life
Mine just happened to put me in a daze
Should've taken a much deeper breath
When going down between ya momma's thighs
Send flowers to my ******* and hoes
And never ever forget, ya ****** nice ways
Always tried to satisfy the whole **** world
But still hearing some sad **** woes
I like da sound ya ***** makes
Reminds me of some ole dance tracks
Played by the DJ, named Georgie O’Kay
While everyone dances to a beat
I'm hard at work, while trying to get ya
To get down lower and pretend to be ya momma.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC
here’s the clunking throb of my heart
and you walk in from work
your hair a fluster of black strands
heels flicked off and keys
tossed into the bowl with a clatter
you flump onto the sofa
say nothing
but listen to the clunking throb
of my heart
and I know we’re both thinking
something has to change
but the answer is hidden
like a note under a stone
we breathe
and the traffic continues outside
we sigh
and the phone shrieks by the door
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
Her only vice was that of ****** promiscuity
You couldn’t blame her—the girl had daddy issues,
Body issues, the blood red American
bit her lip, and
hit a rip, then
flicked the tip
Don’t blame her she blamed herself enough, she
Popped, snapped, snorted, puffed, ****** squirted
A sweet escape hypodermically inserted
Straight to the heart of Texas
She had her lo ng list of exes
Vices collect their dues.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
Wishful thinking and a smattering
Freckles sprinkled across her cheek
A winking *** brought tight aloft
A slick line of buttery soft
Feathery light against my find
A curve brushed with a fingertip
My smile flipped slid away
Her mouth flashed a blurred flirt
She touched the flush
That brought the heat her lips flicked
Eyes closed with a bunched fist
Hair tangled as her fingers wove
Lips parted brushed a last kiss
Heat gone left with frayed thoughts
Wishful thinking as she slipped away
cc1210
Dec 20, 2010
Dec 20, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
She is so weird
She is so weird
She is so weird
The other girls all float around with their eyes painted like cats,
Rounded with black and flicked up at the end, but she
Swims with
her eyes painted like fish
One little flick down
One little flick up at the
End and
The other girls whisper about her
Saying
She is so weird
She is so weird
she is so weird
because
She has watercolor lips
In pretty shades of pink
Not sharp
And
Red
Like the other girls
She is not a collection of edges and shadows, she is
Soft and
She is so weird
She is so weird
She is so weird
She looks dreamy
And sometimes
Confused
The other guys whisper that
There is
Not much there
In her head
And that
she is So weird
She is so weird
She is so weird
She has three black lines embedded in the
Side of the
skin on her neck
Stacked like deep
Vs lined under
Each other and once I asked her
If they were birds in flight
Or gills
And she laughed
It wasn’t cruel
She pulled me close
And whispered both
With a smirk
And then she smiled wide
And shook her head and told me
That
I Am so weird
I am so weird
I am So weird
And though I knew it was an insult
When the cats whispered it
It wasn’t one when it came from the fish
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
The Mafia and the Pope
the Italian mafia wanted to take control
they wanted control of the church and all its wealth
the leader Anthony “The Boss” Gambatti sent his muscle
to secure an audience with the Pope
Johnny “the Eye” and his storm troopers
pushed by the guards
into the Pope's secretary's office
Arch Bishop Spinozza
sprung to his feet to confront the noise
Johnny “the Eye”, he got that name
after he lost his left eye in a knife fight
and replaced it with a glass oversized eye
that always looked straight ahead
a burning cigarette hanging from his lips
he got right in the Bishops face
“The Boss” wants a meeting with his Royalness
“and he wants it now”
the Bishop well aware of his visitors
and there violent ways
backing away from the smoke in his face
told Johnny that he would arrange a meeting
“tomorrow” he said “tomorrow”
Johnny cocked his head
so that his large fake eye was an inch from
the Bishops nose
flicked the ashes from his cigarette
on the shoes of the Bishop
turning to walk away
“tomorrow” he said
Anthony “The Boss”
dressed in his fine 5K Italian silk suit
leather gloves
black silk fedora
accompanied by his entourage'
walked into the Popes office the next day
he sat in a chair in front of the Pope's desk
“What can I do for you Anthony?” asked the Pope
the two had grown up as school mates
and had maintained a relationship
though not close
“Carlos, I think it is time we work out
a financial aggreement with each other”
“being that the church is known for giving,
I think it is time for you to give me some money,
a lot of money”
“I have many expenses to address”
“to insure that this happens”
I want you to make love to a woman”
“and if I refuse such a horrid task? quizzed the Pope
“I will begin removing all of your Bishops,
one every hour, from all over the world”
”and it won't be pretty” responded Anthony
The Pope, obviously shaken with the proposal
got up from his chair, his face in his hands
paced back and forth for a few minutes
“I will agree to your disgusting request
on three conditions” said the Pope.
“and what are those conditions?” asked Anthony
“1st this woman must be blind,
so that she cannot see who defiles her body”
“2nd this woman must be deaf,
so that she cannot hear any hint of who defiles her body”
“and 3rd your holiness?”
“3rd, this woman must have really really big ****
Gomer Lepoet...
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
She never humoured anyone,
And she never made us small.
She gave our words more meaning
Than we dared and she thanked us;
Not with a word but with the understanding
That was her nature; Born in her
And given to us freely as she felt us worthy.
Another thing taken for granted,
Or to reflect on;
To learn.
She left long before
I flicked through her life in an album;
Before we cried and before I sang to her,
Or for her.
It's not clear anymore.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
I laughed in places
Where Laughter was not asked for,
In granite market towns
Beneath refugee palm trees shivering.
Running from giant hands
That were covered in car wash fluids,
The back of children's heads imprinted
On their palms.
I laughed during disciplinary procedures,
Before authority figures
With cornflakes in their red beards
And my laughter crept over the edges of their flowerbeds
And the grass laughed with me.
I laughed at funerals,
The sounds of horses beyond the churchyard
And a messenger ran down the aisle
panting and exhausted,
He had a message for my laughter
' Quick you must come at once'.
I laughed during marital feuds,
Laughter rising out of its own body
above broken guitars and dried up bonsai,
Above all the things I said
That contradict me now.
I laughed during serious films,
The tulips drooping on top of the T.V.
The sun slumped against the door,
Behind heavy curtains
I mistook for pigs on hooks.
I laughed over exercise books,
Above algebra and history
Behind impossible bra straps
That appeared out of acne and ink flicked backs.
I laughed at the swimming pool
Hiding birthmarks like stains,
Drowning above the water saying
'I am a fish I must get back in!'.
I laughed in surgeries among migraines
and told my mother that robots were taking over,
in the same rooms where they removed my brothers' verucas
And I saw the doctors small blade
escape through the window.
I laughed during friends confessions,
In between the silences of repeated songs
While pantomime dames walked past windows
make-up running in black and yellow rain.
I'm laughing while making coffee in a campervan,
I'm laughing because its a monday morning,
Because everyone else is busy,
Because we have an oil lamp from a pound-shop
Burning beneath the sound of rain on the roof,
Because the radio's silent…..
And because sausages are best done slowly.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
Regrets, they come in waves and break around his feet
And he begins to wonder who he might have been
Had roads diverged in different woods and fields
Not yellow or yet any colour still unseen
But clearer now by day than windless nights
Still nearer than the objects of his dreams
It'd rained late into the evening, and when the lights were shaded
Around the pool outside and with the windows shuttered
He'd thrown on loose clothes, flicked open an umbrella
While high outside the stars the lightning flashes muttered
Pulled open doors that led to the veranda
And moved outside once more with all his thoughts unuttered
The smoke, from fires on Java lies heavy on his senses
An omen of the time of year and of the past condition
He shrugs, ***** in the acidic nighttime odors
Reviving lives not lived but revealing his admission
That time beyond the present that mirrors every movement
Within, without, and yet again, the flicker of suspicion.
The pistol in his pocket, illegal not unloaded
A symbol of his state of mind and by his sole discretion
He kneels beside the water, deep-set and in the shadows
Lips forming wordlessly around the last confession
Images of where and what and who and why and whether
A portent of that final action, sensing and impression
The smoke from fires on Java lies heavy on the water
The reek of cordite mixing with the smell of burning grasses
Indignant birds protest the crack of one small set expulsion
The echo round the swimming pool reverberates and passes
Nothing more and nothing less and time and space and matter
Slick red upon the treacherous tiles, the shattered bloodied glasses.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
he counted them like flower petals
with "she loves me"
and "she loves me not"
throwing them afterwards
to the street below.
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
he counted them like flower petals
but he inhaled the smoke
of the burning petals
and she filled his lungs
and lingered there
for what felt like years.
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
keeping in mind the seconds
he lost with each stick
he banged his head
against his fist
and cried apologetically.
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
but, today,
he thought he should stop
but he couldn't help it
it was the only thing left
that reminded him of her -
her nicotine lips
and her warm glow.
he started counting cigarettes
the way he did every other night
he tried to count the times
he said he'd forget
or he said he'd move on
he took another drag,
flicked it to the air,
and said,
"that's it for today."
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
My mind could not conjure up the notion that the word, the name, meant something. A-n-n-a. I looked. I looked: she stared back the same. Unknowing, unfamiliar. I wanted to remember, I wanted to.
7 a.m, in the crawlspace underneath the house, flashlight grasped in my hand, sweat from my forehead plastering my hair against it. It smelled like dust. I inched forward on my stomach, writhing as a worm. My body seizing against dirt and webs. I yelled out her name. Just to see. Just to test if my mouth still knew how to speak.
Anna.
Anna.
There. In the corner. I flicked my light against a box with tape on the side and her name written on over it in marker. I whispered it to make sure. Anna. One more time. Anna. I sunk my face into the ground. My breath, soft from my lips but coarse in form, disrupt the filth, made me cough. I crawled over to her with ease, as if the bones in my body were pushing me, the muscles guiding me; these pulsing veins, telling me.
When I opened the box, the first thing I saw was her, smiling back at me in the form of a memory. July 1996, our wedding framed around sanded wood, with splinters etching at the sides, aching for a hold on them. And I cradled her, despite this. Despite my skin giving in.
Anna.
I almost forgot.
My head was hurting again. I blamed it on the suffocating of the casket underground enveloping me, not the staples buried into the skin of my skull, not the remembrance that underneath piles of dirt, her body was just a stack of old bones with only a stone to tag her as proof she was once living.
Anna. My Anna. I cradled the picture against my chest. I clung to her.
My light began to flicker, a spider crawled across my finger. Anna was diminishing, like a ghost, like a gentle sweep of navigating headlights turning a corner, creeping away, and suddenly gone.
Anna. A-n-n-a. I shut my eyes. I could finally remember.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 5:04 PM UTC
She wore bright glossy
Humbug tights.
Aw ****
the way she smoked
her Marlboro Lights
was pornographic.
She flicked her smoke rings
at the traffic
and was blown to bits by
cheap hairspray.
(Considering my love of Jean Genet,
I told her ‘you make sense this way.’
She smiled and clicked
a ****** heel.
‘Holy **** How real you feel!’
Not that I have points of reference.)
Stop confusing my ******* preference
with La-La-Lola Soho Kink.
Your lips are painted ***** pink
and you wrap them round
your glass and down
your Lambrini-Girls Pre-Party
drink.
(I want you against my kitchen sink!)
And naked -
How you overplayed it!
I think you were a bit
afraid
of both your halves,
your masquerade,
your matching scars.
(What did mermaids do to
all their sailors
struck by stars?)
You’re a crazy fusion,
Top-heavy wonder.
You’re a woman, my dear -
and you pulled me under.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
It's the ritual
the need to make time
to die a little
opening a new pack
shiny cellophane
the lid flipped back
paper seal for freshness
pulled out to reveal
20 happy moments spent
inhaling, coughing, thinking
the soft packets
where you flicked the
cigarettes out like movie
stars and the Marlboro man
who are all dead now
roll ups, kit form bronchitis
liquorice flavour papers
combining childhood flavours
with adult life takers
the smell clinging to clothes
and hair dragon breath
but we all looked so ****** cool
so adult so grown up
so ****** clueless, *******
on our manly pacifiers
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
just don't have the courage
some how
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 5:12 PM UTC
a cigarette is clenched between her teeth
and as she takes a deep drag,
she tilts her head back to exhale
a trail of smoke curls and leaves her parted lips
drifting into the twilight sky
only a trace of its smell is left in its wake
she looks over the edge of the balcony
that hangs over her pool
putting her pressure on her elbow
the blue hues danced across her face
white and blue swim on her skin,
a projection, a reflection
the ashes that fall off her cigarette fall into the pool
and decide to either float or sink into oblivion
the horizon that was once god’s strawberry cotton candy
melted into the dark burnt curtain of night
and as the stars awoke one by one
she took my hand into hers,
and flicked the remains of the cigarette into the unnatural blue below
“come with me” she whispered, breathless,
a smile on her face, a bit more than buzzed
we ran up the stairs laughing,
and i could already taste her strawberry lips
and feel her soft tongue
as night was defeated by light
we lay down to our earned slumber
in the queen sized bed
half covered by blankets and soaked in sweat
as we sink deeper into each other
the fantasies that once filled our mouths
come to life, bursting, drifting, exposed
i would have it no other way
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
I'm so lonely
for someone I
can be alone with
a million tongue notes
flicked upon a rogue
scale of silence
echoing unsaids
across flesh parallax
seeing you seeing me
is enough, it's so much
I can barely handle it
and it all stays
in mouth
or drips
down the corners
where I lick
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC