"gelled" poems
I will readily be the first to admit
I heavily romanticize the **** out of life
It’s not that I don’t separate fact from fiction
But if I can find something that is beautiful in both
Then I know I have found something truly wonderful
Give me a movie moment and, for the time being, I’ll know that I’m doing okay
I’ll know everything is going to be alright
So give me summer nights
Let us run out the doors of a pizza place past midnight and drive
Standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
Sticky stage makeup streaked by sticky wind
Overly gelled hair windswept into Picasso shapes
Let’s notice how the stars spin when you look directly upwards
And feel the swaying balance in your feet, as the air plays louder than the music
Hold out your arms like
Titanic
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Superman
Hooking my ribcage forward over the top of the windshield so I can let my hands explore the sky
Reaching to touch low-hanging branches that are never quite near enough
Leaning bent back against the railing
And singing mismatched lyrics to whatever song I can’t quite hear
Since I’m holding my head farther above the world than usual
Standing straight and tall and
Let’s appreciate the way the laws of physics keep us from falling but not from tipping
So we’re always just on the edge of cautious
Slightly alert
But mostly lost in the magic of being
Young and free
Past midnight on the empty streets of a small town
With fireflies spinning past like low-hanging stars
And a summer breeze intensified into enveloping all five senses
Let’s forget about responsibilities and forgive the people we’re running away from
Even if just for the moment
Give me the rush of this moonlit escape
And memories that could fit with pretty soundtracks and rolling credits
Let headlights be our guide and the radio be our leader
For one night the tears in our eyes are going to be from the sting of speed
Not the empty hours of another sleepless night
For one night we are going to reach out for a hand
And actually end up holding tight to each other as we race through the darkness
Four heartbeats and a loud engine
All drowned out by a summer night being lived as it’s meant to be lived
Standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
And romanticizing the ever living **** out of the movie moments in life
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
You taunt me, your
perfection,
your tan skin glows like a god's.
your legs pale with a criss-crossing of
light brown hair,
a furry overcoat.
Your veiny forearms
and blotchy red face, pink with
acne and scars.
Chapped lips and eyebrows
forever quizzing what has been said,
artificial black hair gelled into
stiff shapes.
I could look at you
forever
but you still seem to
puzzle me.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
her morning pleasure occasionally actually exercised,
a substituted delight for gym-going work with Lulu exercised,
no man can, will ever, understand
the nature/nurture debate over,
in my mind resolved, nature, hands up and hands down
RR's^ query, is god dead,
no longer rumbles around in my head cause when he speaks,
I can't get a word in edgewise
what i did in the sixties, lost to time in memoriam,
especially some really bad poetry
but this gender differentiation
a matter that Aristotle dutifully, so wisely, philosophically avoided
there is no Socratic method rationality in what is just crazy insanely meiosis,
there is no comprehension of the essence of elemental genetic division,
like the NY Mets,
ya just gotta believe, or just accept
but from the other side of the bed
comes a surly, dry rejoinder, a gelled spike
*thanks to modern science,
why don't you come over to the
right side, maybe then,
you'll understand the true meaning
of pleasure
transgend your self,
show your willingness per the bible,
to be god's new and improved version of a human being*
So,
a pretty little, light A-line,
with a summer floral pattern,
a size 12, (20? ***
I,
will wear with great
human pride,
come June
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
i was'nt very clever
at maths at park st school
thick as **** when adding up
a mathematics mule
but i was quite good looking
girls where always there
counting not a problem
with gelled black streaky hair
puberty and progress
next stage after kissing
discovered that my *****
was'nt just for *******
then came my dilemma
a valley ****** vexed
blod the bike from blaina
begging to be sexed
how'd you want it bloddwyn?
oooh!....ten inches would be nice
i counted for a minute....
then i shagged her twice
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 11:39 AM UTC
i have to write about my prince charming, my ideal mate, and i realized that
i don't want a prince charming because i have you
prince charming is unrealistic. he's myths
and sexism and fake smiles and too shiny eyes and
weird capes and way too soft lips and gelled hair
and excessive chivalry
but you...
you are real
you are flesh and skin and bones
and past mistakes and happiness
and pain and love and lust and hugs that linger
and smiles that stay implemented into my brain
and frustration and kindness and dreams
and oblivious and tolerant and you
you're you and that's really all i could ask for
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
your hair’s so **** distracting
it’s gorgeous, yes,
slicked back or even gelled up into the punk rock staple
of I hate my parents
but it pulls me away from your face
like a sucker for half-assed romance novels
your doe like hazel eyes
draw me in
your bumpy nose
rocks against mine and makes me giggle
your lopsided grin
makes it so easy to get lost in kisses
but when you’re screaming at the top of your lungs
about how much ******* hairspray you need for the next show
it gets me wondering
and wondering is always bad, but,
did it ever occur to you that girls will still love you even if you don’t grease your hair up
did it ever occur to you that I will still love you
but then again,
you’ll eventually just get a haircut
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
Today, I was sitting on the SEPTA, on my way to work as usual.
Suddenly, a Secane Bro appeared. This wasn't just any bro, it was a special breed, rare and only to be found at the Secane station between the hours of 7 am to 9 am and again from 4 pm to 6pm.
These are the Indian research bros.
They come in with gelled hair, starched shirts (ranging from pink, sorry, salmon, to white) and the indelible odor of Indian cooking and men's cologne.
For a more science-driven bro, a heavy backpack is essential, while the cooler bros have headphones and briefcases.
The bros are often self-conscious and gang together.
They rarely have a female companion, since such a thing is against the bro-code. They always sit together, or at least in the same car.
Most of all, the bros have hope.
They are ambitious,
flying fish in the dreary SEPTA morning atmosphere,
zealous believers willing to jump
through whatever loop and
hoop to get their own piece of the
American dream.
Dream on bros, dream on.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
We laugh at him,
My friends and I,
In our bubble of teenage invincibility
We laugh at him,
Skinny and ungainly,
In shirts one-half size too big and
Kakis that were probably $10 at Meijer's.
We laugh at him,
Hair carefully gelled and combed to cover the
Bald spot where too many nights of
Indecision and loss have rubbed it clean.
We laugh, his awkwardness fueling our
Shameful antics,
Shrinking him until he appears no more
Than an irritating fly with
Strangely sad eyes and
32 years of small-town memories not
Validated,
Never appreciated.
We laugh at his first-time fumbling and confusion,
Not knowing how to handle us,
In our smug overconfidence and
Judgement like one thousand pins,
How to reach beyond our stubbornness
To teach us something worthwhile,
Something beyond the plan.
He sits like an origami bird that was made
Without instructions,
Perched on the corners of old desks,
In storage rooms of old textbooks,
Wrinkled and refolded.
Yet his sad eyes and open vault of memories makes him
Stronger, stranger, than I, we, have ever seen in the
Four walls of our learning.
Favorite books and winged metaphors
Fly
Next to seeds of joy and a father's death,
Twenty-two pieces of musical
Coping
That we laugh at,
That we see as a pitiful attempt at rejoining life,
That we scorn
With our teenage invincibility.
It's alright.
We know the value of less than nothing-
Our judgment means nothing.
His too-big shirts
And lyrical memory will
Exist
To anchor a life
Far after we have left,
Lost,
Wandering.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Glowing pools of cande light
Arranged carefully around the studio.
A steel cage stood, big and strong
So unlike the man outside.
An experiment
For kicks,
For love,
For leather.
Manicured nails, gelled hair and
Sheathed in Armani.
Standing, observing and evaluating
The other and the scene.
The city bustled, street lights shone
And people walked by
On the street below.
Laughter penetrated the window.
Hypnotized, the clock stopped ticking,
The violins got louder and
The laughter faded
As though the window thickened.
Picked up the sharp thongs
Coiled by the gloves.
Violins again and again
Kept repeating the beginning
Of the same song but
I loved it every time.
He stepped inside, shut the door
And looked up.
Wiry and thin.
So unlike the steel cage,
Big and strong.
So uncertain and full of fear.
The bustle forgotten,
The city hummed quietly
As long slender fingers
Clenched the leather.
Violins again and again
Getting louder and louder
Like the drum in our ears
Beating ever faster.
Smooth skin and sharp leather
Met.
Whimpers and gasps
And titilation.
An experiment
For kicks.
For art.
For leather.
Two bodies:
Both wet and sweating.
One standing, observing and evaluating
The other and the scene.
Laughter penetrated the window
Again.
The violins stopped,
And he stepped out for bandages.
It was an experiment.
Just for kicks,
For lust,
For leather.
An experiment.
For kicks,
For pain,
For pleasure.
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 1:03 PM UTC
That night, the back of your head was such a sight to see. Your worn-but-new sneakers slamming against the pavement was a symphony, the volume decreasing with every step. Your hands running through your hair in angst after being gelled to your forehead by sweat. Lastly, you throw your head over your shoulder for one.
Last.
Look.
You were the devil in disguise under the muted yellow street light. Your expression sent a thousand messages, but mine only expressed one.
I’m free.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 7:31 AM UTC
looking back and forth
from you
to her
to them
& the others
and i wonder...
who of you are sincere
which of you go home in complete & utter contentment?
you...
wearing plastic smiles
coifed hair
painted eyes
and lips
gelled
sprayed
sprinkled & spritzed
iron out
blown out
shaken & tousled
for what?
to add to the alcohol induced facade
of the similar?
no, i am not unique
i'm just better at showing what's real
than most.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
i see, in the black
studio cave of creativity.....
gangling, disinterested youth.
metamorph...
into mecurial, liquid madness...
fluid, upon the stage,
they fly, toward the lights.
moths, to a burning moon.
momentary flashes,
of. god's humour,
in flight across
the mechanical sun's
gelled brightness.
and then the curtain falls.
and they drift back,
into their former selves,
inarticalate, but secretly
smiling.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
I found you there, lying on the tarmac,
Dressed in a suit, your hair gelled back,
People walking by, hadn't got a clue,
Too busy in their minds, but I could see you,
~~~
Car's driving by, gesturing at each other,
Unaware of a body, lying undiscovered,
Commuters in the way, I struggle through the rush,
Stubborn moans, as they refuse to budge,
~~~
Twisting my ankle, stumbling off the kerb,
Knocked off the pavement, by this one way herd,
Calling out to you, I asked if you're okay.
You didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Checking your vitals, your eyes open wide,
Ignoring my calls, like you wanted to hide,
I call for some help, a policeman walks by,
Oblivious to us both, as you let out a cry,
~~~
More people look around, they see you there,
Rubber necking as they, gather and stare,
The policeman asked, if you were okay,
You didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Calling an ambulance, as commuters watch,
A vagrant on a bench, clutching his scotch,
People calling over, Will he be okay?
We didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Arrival of a paramedic, and an off duty Nurse,
Reading your vitals, talking chapter and verse,
Interrupting them both, we asked if you were okay,
They didn't respond, so still that you lay,
~~~
Movement of your eyes, as you whisper a sound,
A moment of silence, as you look around,
I lay down beside you, to listen to your words,
The commuters muted, in their gathering herd,
~~~
You said
~~~
The reason I'm lying in the road is....
~~~
Newsflash on the Radio,
A city sleeps,
Thousands laying down,
Refusing to speak,
We asked for an update, from commissioner grey,
He didn't respond, so still that he lay,
~~~
End of Transmission
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
Making me sing daily for her,
Far used to be the sorrows,
Maddening was my love,
Made her feel special..
Me singing & writing poetry,
Separately for her was regular...
For her I will improve myself,
Testing my capabilities I am,
Reeling the love I kindle inside,
Peeling I'm my hard outer shell..
Companion of mine is perfect,
Together we gelled just so well,
Tomorrow seems very golden,
Grappling with all the troubles,
Challenging time with my effort,
Focused were all my techniques,
Graduating in the field of love,
Completed seemed my jigsaw.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
Time to change myself once more
It's my mantra every Sunday
Be good with food and have less wine
This always starts on Monday
Commence with gentle exercise
And eat a smaller ration
By Tuesday this is going well
I'm full of strength and passion
It's Wednesday I am feeling weak
I want to drink some claret
I tell myself to carry on
So instead I eat a carrot
I put myself to bed that night
Hoping not to suffer
Tomorrow is another day
Of course I'll be much tougher
By Thursday I am back on track
I'm feeling rather dandy
I force myself to eat less snacks
And have a little brandy
By Friday it is getting tough
I'm feeling so much weaker
I pour a glass of cold crisp wine
And then fill another beaker
Come Saturday I am off the plan
I've gelled into my sofa
I fill my face with tasty treats
And turn in to a loafer
The sabbath day I carry on
I may as well keep eating
Hereafter I will start again
And do it without cheating
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
Each bone of you I know
She does this charming rebuke
Such bone warming words
Making no bones about it!
This is her warm assurance
Her ways of bonhomie
That the bond, gelled, *****
Is now bone-a-fide!
So whenever she says
I know each bone of you
I bask in the pleasure
Bathe in the sunshine
Sit back and reap fully
The bone-nanza
Of an ever rewarding bone-d-age!
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
i saw you the other day
and you tried to stop
me to say
that you liked to practice
with me some day ....
some words you thought
gelled with your thoughts
but i was in a rush
kept on walking
i didn't look back
i didn't turn back
.....till i ..
i stopped to look back
oh no!! ...poor nettie
do come back ....
im so selfish ....
so inhuman
i ran back.. but you
you where gone
#hey ...i called
wait.....lets stay and chat
come join me
come ...don't be sad
but you kept walking
just walking further ,further away
.............................................................................
you never thought you
were special or likeable ....
but im telling you that you are beautiful and flawless
never thought you mattered
or held any importance
but your the most human of any human Ive met
you feel and felt deeply
and that's what makes you human
for Antoinette
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
You stand at your front door. Looking down, you see horror. You freeze in that spot as from under the door, comes the ****** seepage of carnage.
It pools around you. As you push open the door and walk in, it makes a sickening squishing and suction sound. The gore seeps into your sandals.
You know that you shouldn't, but fear also rules curiosity. You walk further into the room. Afraid that something is going to attack.
As you step through the room, you here an odd pop . You gaze down at your feet. There oozing over your toes, is the remnants of an eye.
Your throat starts to burn, as the bile rises up. Your eyes lose focus. You faint and slink to the floor. You lay cuddled in the blood.
Upon your waking, you find yourself soaked in the blood. It is gelled in your hair. When you can finally stand, bits of raw flesh cling to your clothes and cold skin.
There before you are your freshly painted walls. Covered in...someone. It is then that you notice that you front door is now shut...and locked.
All you can think of, is the plumber that you had called in to fix you leaking kitchen faucet. Oh no! Is that a pipe wrench?
A noise from behind, has you quickly spinning around. You see a shadow move. It slinks in to the kitchen. You give chase. Stepping on entrails.
You had dreaded this. You knew it would happen again. There is no way to stop it. There, like the last time, on the kitchen floor is Diablo, your cat. Daintily licking it's paws. Looking very satisfied with himself.
You walk towards your little demon of a cat. It stares back at you with eyes, green as jade. You stand there, not knowing what to say or do.
As Diablo looks and says......
"Next time, order Chinese, O.K."
Ahhhh, I hope I scared you a bit. This is my Halloween offering for Oct. 5th
Bwwwaaaaahahahaha
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 4:36 PM UTC
you are all bouncing elbows
and awkward knees
with crinkly eyes
and imperfect teeth
,
gelled up hair
and turned in toes
yet you have shot me
like an arrow from your bow
;
its easy to admit
though it seems out of place-
you are the Sun in the Spring
as it warms on my face
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
The beckoning of chilly winds
Cuddled up in a single bed
A future unclear ahead
Like bitter-sweet lemon rinds
He whispers gently into my ear
"I'll wait for your heart to heal,
And as I do I'll be here"
A gentle warmth I did feel
His spiky dark gelled hair
His scraggly stubble tickles me
As we breath each other's air
Like warm wet kisses, he smothers me
Like a cup of coco with cream
So warm was this endless dream
A stupor of endless sweetness
I don't ever want to wake, its a mess
Like chilly warm Autumn kisses
A frost in my fragile heart of glass
Yet so warm like a hearth that hisses
I think my sorrows, I will pass
For he is here by my side
An unsolicited love I'm receiving
Now life is much more worth living
Together we will survive the tide
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC
From the Prayer of Saint Ignatius of Loyola (see notes)
<>
the phrase grabs my eyelids,
a forced opening,
nay,
a denial of closing,
our most human
and natural
escape hatch
and I wonder…
is it self~slander,
or is it the obverse,
that explores a desire
to enumerate honestly
for what is…is…
let the costs count us!
is that it?
merely
poetry
airy escapery,
what passes
for t r u t h in
these dark days?
<>
the damning costs count me
in their number!p
as ******
<!>
hapless victim of living,
pondering ponderous
divination of saintly
defiant definitions
of ‘greater good’
’tis the difficile,
entre the pill and the
bitter, oh so bitter the herbs,
for it is
so plainly & so hard
to differentiate, et
distinguer mais être distingué(1)
distinguish tween but not to be distinguished
memories that are costs disguised,
reverting as dreams, in the true~alone
hours of the twenty four, when it’s
just you, & fighter and worthy opponent
them costs,
who needs no definition
tolling the steeple bells
of utter anguish,
as you're thre greatest living expert
in these matters,
(le plus personnel)
the sins of action and transaction,
And the worst, those truly heinous
inactions,
face off in opposition in the boxing ring
<>
and the costs paid, a savage skilled
opponent, intimate of your every trickery,
the bare knuckled brawler, whose knows,
knows! the true tally, the bodies you’ve
buried, the children witnesses to your
creative abominations, lies you tell no
one else, but yourself- every single day!
the urge to cease here
grows stronger by the second,
minutes past and les défenses have risen,
what disclosures revelations bring forgiveness?
this my spotlight,
caught in the headlights,
where fessing up is in reverse,
fessing down to the black bottom,
where ugliness is the normative and
vain attempts at denial offers no escapes
from glutinous disgusting mess of gelled of
nothing but the truth
nah,
you don’t want to know,
what a human can accomplish
in a short seven decades of decadence
and recount constantly the costs of consternation
<>
so I‘ll let you
retreat to the gray masses
all your own where your very
owned
wonderings
are intercepted
for where I go now
willingly, unfailingly,
failing
needing not, requiring not
no company
Jul 13, 2024
Jul 13, 2024 at 7:17 AM UTC
Stolen cases of liquid, bubbly alcohol and
I'm whining that I don't have any cigarettes.
36th chambers against my ear drums as
Youth blasts through the bridge over chopped water.
I parry a blow to my abdomen and
Spill beer everywhere.
Someone says something in another language.
A farce about debauchery had never rang so true.
Smile. Show them it's you.
Grin. Blow to the tune.
Order. Show that you know what to do.
Drink. Turn your liver to stew.
It's so crowded the legs have disappeared
And whoever was near is now long gone.
Then, there's the song, the one you know by heart.
Everyone knows the lyrics
Like diamonds in a cart.
So much haze now. The last man is standing.
The dogs are outside restless and panting.
There's no cab in this ********* city that can take me home!
The bachelor's wife deceased has phoned.
Call her back, to let her know.
You, at least, have the right idea on your shoulder.
A letterman jacket pinched around her waist
As tight as a rubber band around a mockingjays neck.
I and you or you and I make our move towards the nightlife.
Things couldn't be any better.
Remember when you made your pass at wisdom?
How the crowds cheered and smiled with you?
A rush of fingers through our five dollar gelled hair.
Dear whisperings of nuclear proportions at 5am
In tune with the death of Dylan be it a mystery
Put a tune on the needle
Round her back then push her to fetal
Allow madness into your life
Stir it in
And see what you are tomorrow
It's OK
She said.
It will be fine
She said.
What will be, will be
She said.
I told her to
Say it
In French.
I don't know French
She said.
I laughed.
She left.
I watched her go
Out the door.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC