"franny" poems
The Talk
BY GAYLE DANLEY
Pretty soon we’ll have the talk.
She’ll ask me where babies come from
And I will lie to her: . . .
To the Man Who Shouted “I Like Pork Fried Rice” at Me on the Street
BY FRANNY CHOI
you want to eat me
out. right. what does it taste like
you want to eat me right out . . .
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 8:40 PM UTC
Excuse me as I rant.
I am tried of trying to inhale religious expectations
expecting it to restore some coloration
Within the walls of my longing to be accepted soul
Because once I inhale
I'm drowning with rules and regulations
Suffering by asphyxiation.
On one hand I am told not to fall into temptation
On the other my fingers count the scars of self mutilation.
And they wonder why there's lack of communication
When most spit their words calling us abominations.
But Franny that's what they believe
yeah and I believe their teachings are a form of defecation.
you see what I mean, it's all 'bout interpretation
They see lustful behavior needing modification
I see nature and nurture working in collaboration.
because I am more than just a concept of sexualization.
Because I am more than God's "Mistaken creation"
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
You were in your forties then, lived upstairs with your
old man, gave the neighborhood someone to feel better
than. I was maybe nine or ten, and Franny, oh! I could
have cried when he blacked your pretty gypsy eye and
Franny, oh! my restored hope when I saw Joe, his lip laid
open; Franny, you could throw a punch. So here's to right
hooks, Franny. Here's to gin before lunch. Here's to street
smarts and cunning hearts. I didn't end up like you. I got
out of the neighborhood. I'm my own woman; that's our
slogan, but you know, Franny, sometimes even that
makes me feel like I'm swinging my fists in a third floor flat.
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 10:29 PM UTC
Fourteen years old
and my life was a trap -
My ankle was caught
All red and ragged
In the jaws of an age-old machine
Designed to catch boys.
But there was a missing cog –
a little *****
because there was a way,
(There was a way)
There was a way
to
get away…
College Library,
Domed and dark,
The silence disturbed by a bluebottle’s
Rumble
And the sly ticking of my own gold watch.
Oh! Getting high on the smell of
Other people’s universes,
Tissue thin and
Dogeared immortal -
Gotcha!
I’ve got 'em all!
You can’t contain me in these walls,
I can go an – y -where.
I can get drunk on Holden’s Highballs
Or Sebastian’s brandy,
I can weep at the grave of Ignatius Riley’s
Sexually inappropriate wank-fantasy dog,
I can neatly eat Prufrock’s peach
Or a dismal breakfast in a seaside caff
With Dallow and Spicer
And dear Rosaried Rose
With one eye on the sea and
Some lukewarm tea.
I can spend a season with my namesake,
Far away from Heaven,
And shake hands with Satan as he
Finishes a speech,
Wiping his mouth on a swollen
rock,
Hot as heaven and black as a leech.
I can walk that sheep on B612,
I can whip around the Second Circle
Of Hell
Or lock myself in a toilet
With Franny,
I can live in a garret with a garrulous ****** -
I can be East of Eden,
Wonderland,
I can die in Venice,
I can shoot soldiers in the sand,
I can lust after Lo – lee – ta
Tip of the tongue,
I can be a girl,
I can be a nun,
Blow into a conch,
Diffuse a bomb,
Digest my lunch,
Be a sub,
Be a dom,
I can sparkle here,
I can be free here,
I can just be here
And there are no rules here,
Just one boy
And a book
And a bluebottle
And a watch.
Aw dear -
What a flawed design for a cage!
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
It's all in the cards,
So let's shuffle our deck,
And see what say our hearts.
Shuffle your deck,
Lay out the cards
And we'll find within the symbolism
Whether we're fleeting
Or meant to be.
And I be a liar if I said I trust cards
More than people,
But I definitely trust the books that hold stories of them
Infinitely more.
But these books,
They're my home.
I got to the library, the bookstore,
And please understand, that's my church.
Within those walls and these papers,
I find my truth and my guidance.
My gospel is To **** a Mockingbird,
My old testament is the complete works of Charles Dickens,
And my new testament is J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey.
I find prayer within Lord Byron,
And I seek guidance from Richard Bach.
So maybe it is all in the cards,
But if I could read the cards
As well as I read Edgar Allen Poe,
I'd be the most profound clairvoyant
In the history of history.
But I bet you
That when I seek prayer within Brent Weeks and Oscar Wilde,
Know that I'll find every reason to be with you
And none other,
And I'll see the beauty
Of our future
Together.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
Who was my mother before
she met my father and learned to scream?
Did she wear her hair long and loose,
the thick sheets of burnt oak wheat curled
habitually between her young piano fingers?
Did she stop singing Sam Cooke when people
came in the room? Did cigarets find their home
between her smiles, were curses running
like bitter saliva through her teeth?
Most importantly: Did she come home one day
--to Pa folded in his armchair, hands tucked tight
against his sides, whiskey to his right, Ma fixing
dinner with an eye on her dead sons's picture,
Franny working the late shift down at the tracks,--
and know that every night would be shorter than the next
until she was the ghost walking the bright foreign halls
of married life.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
Nostalgia for a vanished world
of Macfisheries and the
Orange Hand boyswear store at Golders Green.
Bar Linda at the bus station
close to the record shop
with listening booths.
Those were our prize days
with au pairs Franny and Janine
and our London memories.
As children
we never knew we had it all.
In our back garden
buried treasure - a cows bell
and delft plates.
The Jackson Five and Banana Splits,
bubble gum the preferred choice.
America so abundant on the horizon,
Pickettywitch on the radio.
playing that same old feeling
we so accordingly search for now.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
#1
The water crawled up
her legs like an angry fire.
Stop! For she likes it too much.
#2
Franny and Zooey
Speaks to me like no others.
Happy, yet so sad.
#3
It has been said, when
darkness comes light lives. Yet, all
joy dies as love leaves.
#4
Sound is a constant.
It is always heard. You can-
never unhear sound
#5
Up above the sun
it does not rain nor do they
cry for there is no sadness.
#6
I live again yet
The best part is yet to come
I feel beautiful.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
Second Mouth
BY FRANNY CHOI
Other-lips whispering between my legs.
What they called black hole not-thing
is really packed full of secrets. A rebel mouth . . .
Listen
It Was the Animals
BY NATALIE DIAZ
Today my brother brought over a piece of the ark
wrapped in a white plastic grocery bag.
. . .
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
elane liked *******
and quite possibly ******
and what ever they called ****
in the late 70's/early 80's
she had a daughter named franny
who i played with
and a husband named glen
who she cheated on when he was out
milking the cows
all the milkers smoked cigarettes
and lived in mobile homes down the hill
from us
except for max who went to church with us
my dad offered him a job while he was in jail
i think he turned himself in for some crime
when he got saved
my dad always liked to hire ex-convicts
because he was a firm believer in grace and mercy
and second chances
anyways, once franny and i got into a fight
about our dads
she said her dad was the boss,
which was confusing to me because
i thought my dad was the boss
we both got mad and cried
i used to pick up the cigarette butts
that the milkers had left in some dried out mud puddle
(i was five or younger so give me a break)
and pretend i was smoking
since my parents were united pentacostal
i was taught all about the glorious
tribulations and persecutions that i would have to live
through before jesus raptured us all to heaven
before i was old enough to be terrified
i pictured myself as being left behind
smoking cigarettes, hiding out in trees
kind of looking forward to it
whenever i would go over to franny's place
we would watch cartoons. scooby doo was my favorite
my parents didn't have a tv, so franny's was where it was
at for me.
elane would come out of her bedroom and yell at
franny to turn the tv down because she was trying to sleep
franny was always telling me how her mommy
had an owie in her nose
later on, glen quit
and moved away with franny and elane
and the mobile home they had lived in
burnt down
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 7:23 AM UTC
I never miss a thing around
the skies are always above me
'never' always asks for an 'always'
And blood will rush until it stops rushing
chilly air of a chill night out - hold, release
relive (free WI-FI) willingly crashing
So many trippy kids and adults in the city of M.
Empty beat attacks with the strength of a spring grizzly
Heart slipped my mind like a metronome slapping
Suddenly universal knee touch fulfilling each fantasy
Was bad so could be good again, by that it was winning
night knows playing cruelly, touch and run, taggers
i go with it, i play along, i start dancing, head first, bare neck, collar settling
cause of death: Guillotine in front of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs on Smolenskaya
Coke still evokes the taste of blood because of metal wrapping
Indistinct music on the street so kind upon me helps swirling
My curls grow, I cut'em, they come back
I leave locks in the books reread, Franny and Zooey hold it
* «Louis XVI, born Louis-Auguste, was the last King of France before the fall of the monarchy during the French Revolution. … Louis XVI was guillotined on 21 January 1793. … The executioner, Charles Henri Sanson, testified that the former king had bravely met his fate. » OST Wikipedia
* «Jerome David Salinger was an American writer. … Salinger died of natural causes at his home in New Hampshire on January 27, 2010. He was 91. … The representative believed that Salinger's death was not a painful one. » OST Wikipedia
* «Metronomy is an electronic music group formed in 1999. » OST Wikipedia
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 6:21 AM UTC