"gawked" poems
Street lamps play
As they have before
Dim walkway
Leading to a door
Careful steps
Strewn leaves
Breathe between gaps
Skulking like thieves
Rustling trees
Otherwise nothing
Mind at ease
Heart rapidly beating
Usually stops here
Usually I'd stir
But still in slumber
I drew closer
Eyes on door
Familiar scene
Stood here before
This dream I've been
Up the patio
Door was ajar
Accompanied by my shadow
Stretched far
Tunnel vision
Dripping eave
Door handle beckons
Hand raised to receive
Usually stops here
Usually I'd rouse
Allowed to enter
This time... This house
Handle I seize
Door seemed light
It did not freeze
Hinges did not fight
Revealed the insides
Scanned surroundings
Unlit lights
Stairs climbing
Footsteps I heard
Coming my way
Sounds absurd
But yet I stay
Usually stops here
Usually dream is done
But still was clear
It only had begun
Darkened figure
Descending on bare feet
Beauty light as feather
Ever did I meet
She did not see me
Planted at the doorway
Impossible it may be
Nothing did she say
Walked right by
My eyes followed
Seconds fly
In eternity they burrowed
Usually stops here
Usually I'd wake
Yet still I'm here
Chance I'd take
Stood at the fridge
Back towards me
Under siege
My mind set a flurry
Fridge was opened
Light casted her silhouette
Her back darkened
Curiosity grew fat
Illuminating beams
Accentuated her hair
Like golden streams
Flowing with flair
Usually stops here
Usually I'd startle
Connection did not sever
Continue I was able
Spellbound I gawked
Rooted like a tree
Wide-eyed I stalked
This siren before me
She drank
Not knowing I was there
Stiff as a plank
I was locked in a stare
Finally broke free
Shifted my weight
She turned to me
And then said...
Then it ceased
Then I awaken
Surprisingly pleased
Slice of heaven
Who was she?
Silhouetted face
Perpetually...
Mysterious grace
Foreign albeit familiar
Strange but true
Now rings clear...
It is you...
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
In a museum, or forgotten barn,
A small red twelve inch two wheeler
Hangs on invisible wires,
Or is covered in pigeon droppings and dust.
But Tannehill rode it once,
Like something in a dream.
He was too long-framed for it.
He controlled it, rounded the corner,
Pedalling hard down the sidewalk,
Across the street from our new house.
I gawked from the front yard:
He was a boy with his bike,
Like *The ****** on T.V.
It was the first I learned to ride,
And the falls were magnificient,
On grass or asphalt.
Girls' bikes were easy,
One size fits all.
Then I learned to pedal
Beneath the cross bar of the big boys'.
Push the pedals,
Shift the midrift, and be gone.
Always from somewhere
To somewhere else,
Far from the soft front lawn.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
My poem is called how to be forced into a talent show.
It's very easy to be forced into a talent show when you're me.
No, I am not saying, "Ooooo" look at me I am Michael Ryan and I am the most talented person in the world.
I'm more saying, "oooo" look at me, I'm such a nice person that I will do your talent show, even though I don't want to.
Yes, that is what I am really trying to say, but not in a conceited kind of way, because that's not me.
I was forced into this talent show from the very beginning.
The very beginning, the very first sign up day.
and I thought "hmm I don't have any talent", and she was like oh yes you do, well of course I believe her.
And from that moment I've felt slightly uneasy, because to be honest she can't be there every day to tell me "hey you have talent."
And to be honest all I'm doing is a SPOKEN WORD poem, which is pretty much just me talking.
What a talent that must be...but not really.
Then my friend tried to jump on board with me to do a duet of a poem, so I was forced even more in to this situation.
But luckily that person changed their mind and so I was just stuck with my original oh you have talents person stringing me along into this over thought situation.
Just to let you know I did eventually try to tell them hey I think I'm not gonna do(but then they cut me off), and told me once again you got talents, and please please please do my talent show.
So of course I can't say no, that's not what a nice guy would do, which I am.
And this is what came to me, how about I just write about how one is forced to be doing this in front of a group of people, even though you already said no soooo many times.
And to be honest this is terrifying, because I just came up with this, 30mins ago.
Even though I sat for many hours thinking what to write, it just never felt well right.
And ugh seriously this is so stressful, that I really do wonder why I am even up here.
I could be sleeping right now, but instead I've been convinced to do this.
And there's no guarantee anyone or myself will even like this.
But sleep, **** I know I would like to fall into that right now.
Just dreaming, peacefully, to be sleeping and not on a stage, being gawked at by some strangers.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Zeus, your predilection for banishing Titans to Hades...
anathema of them--revolt was theirs of you...Titanomachy.
Enter Prometheus, second generational Titan, brother
to Atlas--Prometheus of whom Titan revolt at first ran
no fire through his veins.
Thus, Zeus was well pleased and employed Prometheus
to put earth to water, water to earth...as to yield man.
As so man was, and was unto Prometheus...a fondness
entered him of them.
And in of passion Prometheus' veins were run through
with fire...fire fought fire--thus Prometheus reached out
taking hold Zeus' lightning.
Hid in a hollowed fennel stalk, to be bequeathed unto man.
Torrents of fire now ran Prometheus' veins, and in a fit of
infamous mockery presented Zeus with two packets of
slaughtered animal parts.
A hubris was born in Prometheus that being so halved
God-man gave itself fully to that polarity...he gawked at
Zeus and bade him choose between the two packets.
One of ox meat and innards coated in stomach lining, the
other of ox-bones coated in its own abundant fat.
Thus Zeus chose, the wretched lesser of the two...
inconsumable ox-bones coated by fat.
A charged and terrible air cut and heavied all direction,
pointing assuredly that Zeus was one given over to the
surface of things, a psychological casualty of his own
vanity.
Zeus overcome with Prometheus' disaffection for the God
of him struck at Prometheus' family.
At length, this assault could not, would not put asunder
Prometheus from the ground he stood.
A certain Haphaestus was summoned by Zeus...whose
directive was writ in torment.
Chain Prometheus to Mount Caucasus...where from on
high a sackcloth cloud shall shake loose an eagle, whose
homing hunger shall have only a taste for Prometheus' liver.
Day in, and day out, that accursed ***** shall be the
bounty of itself!
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
My flesh crawls, and my blood flows
As I attempt to turn to marble
True stasis
Homeostasis
Oh to maintain beauty to be gawked by muses
And to never have been alive, merely beings of retired faith
But unsurprisingly, just as pointless
I sigh…
I may parish in mind and finally body
But marble will diminish slowly
******
All while watched and attemptedly preserved
I breathe.
Homeostasis
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
The legends won't tell
of Arthur when he fell in love
when he swooned for the arm that held Excalibur
extended out to him
how he did a double take
and stuttered and gawked
at the simple beauty of her flawless freckled skin.
And in this moment
I behold the Lady of the Lake
her divine completeness:
holy and whole.
Elegant sloping shoulders
a regal neckline pleading to be united
with loving lips
in an everlasting caress.
Water droplets dripping from her form--
reluctant,
wishing they could reverse the laws of nature
fall up from the surface
to bead and cling to skin again--
desiring to be as close as we
as she entrances me with emerald eyes
rivers of red hair
enchanting lips that know no equal.
She's won me over
and she drags me under
below the water
beneath the lapping waves.
The ripples on the surface
echo my farewell to the world.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
My life was black and white
A colorless canvas that stood barren
Color was never essential
It was never a necessity of mine.
Yet somehow in my own dull perception
A dot had formed right in the center
A bright dot to say the least...
A peculiar thing I had never seen before
It grew slowly, little by little
A storm of color emerged with each inch
Brown, Yellow, Blue, Purple...
So many different colors
My canvas was no longer colorless
In fact it was the complete opposite.
It was not plain and it was not normal
It was now a work of art.
People gawked at its odd style
Praised it for its unusual strokes
A bizarre spectacle to most
And a quite unexpected transformation for me...
"Who painted this strange piece?"
Before I knew it people were staring at me.
Puzzling eyes that clapped in my direction
"Congratulations on your success"
Words that made me realize I was the painter
I was the one holding the brush
The ****** who painted my own path
The one who put color into my life
"Sign the painting" They all cheered
But now that I know I'm the painter
My work of art is not finished yet
I have unfinished business in my life
I cannot quit now.
Knowing that I still haven't found the right colors
The right mix of red, green or blue to solve my problems
I cannot call this a masterpiece...
My life is still a canvas
But it's not colorless anymore...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
my mouth hung like an overwhelmed option
i swivel at the window facing
and stay out the entire day in this one gawked position
amazing heat and an ugg shy of thought
withdrawn in a mut of mental paralysis
by an alcoholic system
on a day off
the day dunks into the eve before i shift any movement
having sifted the ull
i mix a jar of *** and orange juice
in the open fridge door
Mar 13, 2024
Mar 13, 2024 at 5:58 PM UTC
I went on a jaunt through the park,
And found a man dancing underneath the stars.
Two-step, and he spun around,
His feet were so graceful on the ground.
He looked toward me and,
Extended his hand.
I didn’t know what to do,
Was this too good to be true?
Of his motives, I was unsure,
But he had this strange allure.
So, I swallowed and decided then,
To reach out and take his extended hand.
We danced in tune,
Of a melody no one could hear.
We danced throughout the night,
And though he was a stranger, I had no fear.
We moved together like we’d done this before,
But, I swear to you, this was new.
I didn’t want to go despite my intuition,
Before I knew it, the sun had risen.
We met over the course of the month,
Same spot, same time, and if that wasn’t enough.
We’d dance for hours, starting at the setting sun,
And we’d remain till the next day, when the morning welcomed us.
I never saw his face; he hid behind a mask,
But if he didn’t want to tell me, I decided not to ask.
I asked his name, but he merely shook his head,
At the time, I didn’t bother to question it.
We didn’t care if people watched,
We ignored their remarks as they gawked.
He spun me round, up and down,
Lifted me high and I touched the sky.
I was alone, but I was found,
I felt connected and like I had a crown.
Our waltz was all we focused on,
His hand in mine, things were fine, or so I thought.
One night, I was at our stage, all alone.
I had been waiting since the sun set long ago.
He was gone; all he left was a note on the ground.
I walked over, looked down, and then looked all around.
I picked it up, saw what it said,
And I finally knew who I had been dancing with.
It said a name,
One, I am ashamed to say.
Solitude,
Had left me destitute,
Now I was truly alone.
He had gone,
Left me behind,
All I had was my own.
I stood up, laughed out of spite,
And gazed up into the night.
Had I done something wrong?
Did I step on his foot or dance to another song?
Either way, he ran away,
Solitude had ruined my day.
So, figuring I was at a new low,
And needing a moment of respite,
I decided to continue dancing solo,
Throughout the night.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 10:29 PM UTC
It snowed last night which pleased me - but hardly enough - it just teased me.
The thin, white sheet of snow looked bright and fresh
the dull, browned hedges of fall became holiday dressed,
the air had a sharp, chill perfume and the ground a new, sparkling flesh.
Lisa, a New Yorker who knows snow, gawked at me as if I were insane,
“You’re excited by NOTHING,” she sarcastically complained.
I replied, “When it snows there’s a quiet solace, and the world looks clean and flawless.”
The weatherman is promising us a blanket of snow this weekend
and that would be nice, a storm of ice, to lock us in as the week ends
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 12:17 PM UTC
It took him awhile,
To decide to dance,
He was always the first,
To roar, to prance,
Nevermind his sweaty palms,
As he pushed off the wall,
As he bowed,
Before her cotton dress in a graceful fall,
His hand hung for eternal seconds,
As she decided; looked around,
But, ah! Lo! His eyes, they beckon,
And as the entire room gawked,
At the bold, beautiful ****
As he bowed before an ugly, pimpled nobody,
As if she were a queen; the most beautiful in this here, his flock,
And as the ugly, pimpled nobody,
Dared to consider, to frown, to appear unsure,
Of this, what was sure to be pure allure,
Finally, she ended his wait,
With hesitant nods, the innocent wide-eyed child,
He smiled beautifully, leading with a mesmerising gait,
They alone swept the floor,
She was surprised at this happiness,
And he was relieved of disappeared nervousness,
For he thought himself lucky,
To dance with one such as she,
The people they can stare,
He don't mind it, he don't care.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
Mechanical reactions
slither through the cortex,
Binding our beliefs into
a solid jellied mass.
The peons go without a care,
wisdom is not their share,
only to be appeased
in the short term
is their game.
Yet the one who dances freely,
Gracefully fluttering down the walk,
gets stared at and gawked at,
Ridiculed and mocked.
The program
does not recognize the patterns
that are involved,
and the programmers are just too vain
to change the program's
stiff and rigid brain.
So while the programs interact,
the dancer keeps on dancing,
sensibilities in tact.
She notices the patterns,
the snide remarks behind her back,
the stares, the whispers, wonders,
of the program's capacity cap.
How she wishes just one
free person could truly understand
what it's like not to be a robot,
but a compassionate human.
Seas of judgement, seas of motion,
Seas of jealously and hate,
motivated by confusion,
in this altered AI state.
One day there is a person
walking out of sync,
the rest of the people shrink away
from the lone independent freak.
Free thought and new ideas
Are poison to their wires,
new data it can handle,
but independence acts like fire:
Burning through the program
like an arrow with a purpose,
piercing through its hardened heart
rendering the program worthless.
The boy who parted the sea of monotony
found this dancing girl,
and together created a barrier
shattering programs with a twirl.
By the power vested in me,
I command you to think,
Think twice about your actions
or you will find that you will sink
Into a sticky, jellied mass
where your thoughts will cease to think.
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 12:18 PM UTC
I stood in the freezing cold.
And the rain felt like snowballs.
On a side bench under neon lights, I sat.
With a blue circle surrounding my eye,
when somebody almost knocked my
lights out. Just staring at those who
gawked at me. As I smoked under a
store roof top. This is when I saw you.
You walked on by. To my surprise,
You were as handsome as ever.
"Life must be treating him well."
There was a provoking sound out of
the gaping sky to jump in front of a
bus. You would pay attention.
Maybe stop to see me lying there.
I'm not okay as my quivery voice
claimed. But, you didn't detect the
disturbing echos in the background.
So I hung up the phone.
I, the old worn out dish rag.
I, the door mat to most people.
Still, I thought you would have an
instant flashback. A relapse of our
long history together. Instead,
here I stand in the freezing rain.
And you can't even remember my name.
It's Ada... I uttered. The lighter burning
my fingertips. The expression on your
face. It told our story. I kept walking
through the foggy night.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 8:03 AM UTC
In a land made of darkness
where the trees were burnt black
and the sky was not blue there
all color it lacked
where the people were gray
and the sun very pale
but for the most part
no one ever failed
there were no tough decisions
and no problems too
everything was clear cut
they knew what to do
but what is the point
if there's no choice in life?
if there's no other pathways
it's a pointless strife
To live and to stay
alive are not the same
people must make decisions
choose how they play the game
because to play one game
with another game's rules
would never work out
you'd just get confused
one day a small girl
made this connection
she must live her own life
and not be a mere extension
and she exploded with color
and spread it where she walked
and she marveled in awe
and everyone else gawked
yellows and blues
and marvelous greens
melting the darkness
with the vision she'd seen
and others joined in
finding their inner worth
and spreading more colors
all over the earth
and remember, dear reader
never doubt yourself
you can do anything
just leave those dark clouds
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
Yehudit likes
the new boy
on the bus
she smiled has
he got on and
watched him walk
to the back
of the school bus
and sit in
a side seat
now she sits
at the front
of the bus
thinking about him
now and then
she looks back
over her shoulder
but he's looking out
the window
not at her
so she looks
forward again
musing on
what his name maybe
and whether he'll
be the type
she wants or likes
he looks good
the quiff of brown hair
the hazel eyes
-she gawked him good
as he got on board-
and he had that
Elvis smile
-feels goosebumps-
she thrusts her hands
between her thighs
and smiles to herself
in anticipation
scenery goes by
trees
hedges
fields
cows in the field
telegraph poles
birds in flight
in the sky
but all she
can think on is
what is his name?
and wondering
if he is looking
at her now
but she guesses
not somehow.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
bereft and struck, yet
brief in exile
the gatherers made
a day of the whole affair.
through standing afar
ghastly, conscious,
risen things gawked
as fixed upon; pigeons.
the eat your heart out feeling
swallows the gatherers whole
a breath of an opinion heard;
outspoken.
forget nothing but fallacy!
democracy of the estranged
fluctuating feelings for your
Father Dear.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC
The drive
From Orange County to Los Angeles
Had never been so long.
Broken wipers
Black drugs
Psychotic episodes
Wet roads
And
“This is it.”
(I thought)
“I’m going to die this way.”
High
Too thin
Frightened
And
Without a Home
He continues to speed North
Trying to get his emotions to go South
And I’m frozen in the passenger seat
I smell of dirt
***
And blood
Spiraling into the abyss
I tried to remember his eyes
Inside the elevator
I stared his way,
But only the drugs gawked back
I prayed to a God I’d never seen
Begging to be saved from
My own decisions.
The demons pounded on the van
Some more
They weren’t going to rest
Tonight.
Tonight
We were dressed in black
The van shrouded in it
Tonight
We belonged to them
“This is it”
I inhaled the fumes
And surrendered.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
That year they gave Tess
her first typewriter. She’d
not need to borrow her
brother’s battered old piece
or write down her fragile
poems in her spiderlike
scrawl as her father called it.
The promise came while
she was getting her mind
together in that mental
asylum, after the mucky
love affair that went no
place and left her hanging
there, like one crucified
for all to see and most
to softly mutter and stare.
Get yourself mended girl,
Father said, and we’ll buy
you your own typewriter,
so you can stab away on
the keys to your heart’s
content and bring out
those poems of yours.
He never read her poems,
never read much apart
from the back page sport
or gawked at page 3 girls
with a tut tutting tongue.
That year she gazed out
of the wide barred window
of the asylum at the snow
on fields, at the seagulls
gathering and feeding behind
the faraway tractor as it
ploughed, at the grey
depressing sky, wondering
what it’d be like to not be,
wondering what the woman
with a cast in her eye, was
doing to herself in the toilets,
one night when she’d gone
in to *** unable to sleep.
The typewriter idea
and promise kind of got her
through the dark hours and
the ECT, and the following day
headaches and numbness.
After slitting her wrists (mildly,
a cry for help) she said on the
phone to her father, Come get
me out of this place, help me
get back together. Ok, he said,
Miss Humpty Dumpty, and he
put down the phone, and she
stood in the hall of the asylum
with the receiver in her hand,
the image of the typewriter
before her eyes, those poems
banging on the inside of her
head, new ones wanting to
get out, old ones left for dead.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
From mountains of time;
Pebbles of moments fell.
Worthless stones I thought.
Flung them far to dispel.
Year after year passed.
Unknown paths I walked.
Came across known environment.
With amazement I gawked.
Stumbled upon those stones.
Pebbles which I threw;
They were precious diamonds.
Then its worth I didn't knew.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
"Buy a Star!
Own a Star!"
The sales are brisk,
For cross-eyed lovers,
Cross-hearted, lost,
Beneath the spinning constellations
Burning immortal exhalations,
Desiring forever oxytoxic bliss,
Burning ******* and hearts
Yearn longevity of stars....
PT Barnum saw his opportunity:
Sold cotton candy,
Hawked elephants,
Gawked dwarves,
Hid the razors from
Fierce bearded ladies,
Even sold the elephants' dung,
Provender to exotic gardens....
Barnum's packing up
The Pachyderms,
So Hawkers have us
Gazing on the stars....
"Step right up! See the stars!"
Purchase your fire in the sky!
Your lover's name,
Fixed in the firmament
A million years!
At least the cotton candy
And the elephant dung
Served some earthy, earthly good,
Paid dentists' children's college,
Fertilized the family food.
So now go claim a distant star,
A million, billion miles away,
Its light must make its journey
A thousand years or more
To greet your eyes, and yet,
Your lover's sighs predict
A hundred dollars' better spent
Than on a good Chablis,
Cementing mortal love in
Distant stars so permanent,
Visited through telescopic glass
Atop our rented tenements.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
I went to my eye doctor
And told him I was unstable.
He gawked at me from across the table
Thankfully he tested me
For otherwise I couldn't see
The light in life
Or colours of the trees.
You see, my broken heart was very unkind
Causing me to go colourblind
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
Each person has one destined “other”
Their soul mate, if you will
What if they never meet
Or if it’s too late.
I was in a store buying some cheap perfume
You were checking out music albums
We bumped into each other and gawked
We laughed it off and talked.
Never have I met someone so perfect
The rush was unexplainable
You said, “I’m sorry but I think I like you.”
I said I was married and you said “Me too.”
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
a quantum of soul and cherry ***** in the backseat of a ford-
we were going to eighty-six the world
the sinews of our unattainable hands
that yanked themselves free
and went to ruining our best Bellamy salutes
and went to forming ladders and tarmacs in the vapor of the night
and went to everything
it's wasn't the shaking or the vim of the stockyards on the days they hung up ornaments
it wasn't those who followed a cheekier Moira and gawked at Rita of Cascia as she passed by
it was the way escape felt with you as it's stern
it's the way escape felt with you full of sanguinity
the kind that your mother gave you in the belly of California
the kind that I ripped away for ***** and giggles
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 1:15 AM UTC
Everything was dreary
...And bleak.
And my skin happened to look red and splotchy.
All I had wanted
Was to binge on coco flavanols and overdose on caffeine.
I hadn't moisturized my skin after my shower, or put cover up on while it was still moist and warm. My veneer had not been established.
I told myself it didn't matter..
But really this issue was the cultivation
The turning point of my day.
Then I put my face on.
The grey, somber mask turned to Lovely, Feminine Pink.
As I spread the beige cream across my complexion, I felt something shift; insidious.
I felt the ******* I had been enslaved to.
I had been the one
With no friends and no sellouts to lug around with the rest of her baggage.
I had been the one
Who gawked and sneered
At the self-medication of the lonely girls who looked oh-so attractive
With their gleaming, hair~framed faces
And popping eyes.
What have I become?
I now claim this self selling drug
As my own.
What does it mean? What does it say about me?
Even more importantly, what does it say about you, and your stand point?
Do you put your face on, or do you let your soul bubble out of the surface of your complection?
FACE
A FACE
A million faces, pretty ones.
It's time to face the place of natural grace and replace the superficial first impression we chase.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:39 AM UTC
I can see them watching me
Their ****** eyes
drenched in degrading thoughts
Their horrible lips
thirsty for my body
I can hear their minds ********** me
their fantasies playing out like
gory horror films
They develop provocative expectations of
promiscuity
just because I'm pretty.
I don't like being gawked at
Stop that
No
Don't touch me
Don't
But they can't hear me.
Their minds have already bared my body and ***** my innocence.
All before I've even crossed the street.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC