"gerard" poems
Dear Gerard,
Yes, that's your name now. You'll have to get used to it.
Now that's besides the point. There will be a very hard time in your life.
Where you feel like you're not like everyone else and try to be like them.
Just F-ing embrace it. Cause that's what makes you who you are.
There will be people at different times in your life that will try to make you bad.
But don't ever let The Light Behind Your Eyes fade because of them.
There will also be a time where your thoughts get the best of you.
That's when you'll find the sheriffs of emo town.
You'll also find Patrick Stump and all of Green Day.
Then, in about a year or so, you'll find something that you didn't know was missing.
which is the show Supernatural. All of which will save your life many times.
One thing I want you to never forget is ALWAYS KEEP FIGHTING.
Oh, one last thing, try to have a good relationship with your mother.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 12:50 PM UTC
I love you more than Holden loves Allie's glove
I love you more than the Doctor loved Rose
I love you more than Cosmo loved Wanda
I love you more than Squidward wanted to be alone
I love you more than Mr. Krabs loves money
I love you more than Gerard loves Lindsey
I could go on, but there's no point
Nothing can compare to how much you mean to me
You stupid twit.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
Hello you say as
you saunter through my door to
flop onto the couch and
fluster me with a lazy grin.
got any food?
I am elbow deep in a bag of nachos
why?I ask suspiciously
and you smile wider.
Because I'm hungry, you say
and
kind of fried.
Of course you are
and you
laugh and grab the bag
your fingers brush mine amongst the
crinkly chips and
the artificial cheese dusting.
Who, you ask later between
crunches, is hotter. Gerard Butler or
Johnny Depp?
I nibble a chip in
consideration distracted
by your arm sneaking
around my waist.
It is obviously
Gerard I say because of
reasons I forget when you
start to kiss me.
The nachos suddenly lose
importance because
you taste like
smoke, cheese
and a friday afternoon.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
Chest to chest,
Sweat on sweat.
Moans loud and sloppy,
Faces wrinkled in pure ecstacy.
"Gerard" Frank moaned,
And didn't hide his pleasure.
He dug his nails into Gerards bare hips,
Definately leaving a mark.
**** some more" Gerard groaned, and thrusted harder.
The headboard smashing against the wall,
And the neighbours shouting.
"I'm almost there" Frank yelled,
And pulled Gerard hard.
A few moments,
And Gerard was done.
Gerard rolled off of Frank,
Without a care in the world.
"I'm going to work" Gerard said,
And pulled on his clothes.
"B-but, you don't have to be in for an hour.."
Gerard grabbed Frank harshly by the hair,
And pinned him down.
He smirked down at the younger man,
And harder in love Frank fell.
"But you're my ****
And you know you love it."
Frank thought for a second,
And well,
**** it.
"I'm a bad little boy,
With no heart left,
Or soul.
Just ruin me Gee,
Take my body through hell."
Frank bit his bottom lip,
And looked at Gerard.
He was smirking,
And blushing hard.
"Yeah,
You're right little boy.
Now get on your knee's,
And at least have a try."
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
Blokes in the bar sure do say some weird stuff
Like "love to **** her ******* and eat her ****
Seem to have animals on their mind all the while
"I'd like to see her ***** or do her doggy style"
What does all that mean? I'd really love to know
And how does a woman have a nice Camel Toe?
If a woman comes close and she's a real **** one
One of them may say "I'd like to give the ferret a run"
A bloke went to the toilet seemed quite annoyed
Said he was gonna shake hands with the unemployed
"You mean syphon the python" asked one of the men
"Not really, just shake hands with the wives best friend"
He said he wanted a ***** to his wife late last night
"Gee mate you shoulda seen it, I had a mongrel alright"
Apparently she said "no" and he threatened to leave her
Said he wasn't hanging around if he didn't get any ******
Fred said his wife was gorgeous and he had always adored
But lately she was off *** didn't want any more pork sword
Frank's wife was the same and she hardly left the cottage
Would never let Frank touch her or play hide the sausage
Max, reckoned he'd nearly had more than a man could take
Couldn't get near the missus with his one eyed trouser snake
As for Gerard, He said "think my wife's taking me for a sucker"
"Told me to keep away with the blue veined custard chucker"
A **** dark woman walked past, Marty said "I'd give her a ride"
The barman just laughed and mumbled "they are all pink inside"
Jack joined in saying "leave it alone Marty or you'll get blisters"
"Besides, if you turn them upside down they're definitely sisters"
In the bar I heard a bloke say "I'd give her the old Wham Bam"
"Sure would like to get the old love muscle up her bearded clam"
As the bar closed Jerry joked " If the flags are up at my place"
"I'll put my ***** between her ***** give her a pearl necklace"
All these men laugh and joke as the barman says to the group
"You buggers won't get any because you'll have brewers droop"
As I finish my wine and leave someone says "on ya bike ya miser"
Do you know what they are on about? because I'm none the wiser
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
He had the voice you see,
the timing and the just pause.
He knew how to colour and stretch
a word, just so.
He wrote quiet rhymes:
I’m a winder
(he wrote,
writing as a river).
I love to wander.
Every day I’m different
with stories to tell
of wild otter huntings
and crisp frozen winters.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
I am from the battered symbol and
Dolce and Gabbana perfume and
Adam's peanut butter
I am from the honeysuckle vines
Creeping up the pillars and twirl around my ankles
It tasted like exotic spices and smelled like pond water
I am from the blueberry bush
The lavander rushes
Curling softly around my rusted heart shaped wind chime
I am from Christman Eve birthday cakes and
Writing my name in charcoal on cliff faces
From Tom, and Phillip and Gerard Butler
I am from the judges and
The singers
From marshmallow farms and
Watermelon seeds
I am from the Kool Aid Communion and
Stolen animal crackers
I am from Providence and ancient watchtowers
Bangers and Mash and ginger beer
From the crickets, wickens and picket fences
The bright red porcupine
I am from heron beaks and the green shuttered house
With the bow and arrow creek
The plum cherry trees
Young ****** noses
And the note I keep in my pocket to remind me who I am
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
I am from the battered cymbal and
Dolce and Gabbana perfume and
Adam's peanut butter
I am from the honeysuckle vines
Creeping up the pillars and twirl around my ankles
It tasted like exotic spices and smelled like pond water
I am from the blueberry bush
The lavender rushes
Curling softly around my rusted heart shaped wind chime
I am from Christmas Eve birthday cakes and
Writing my name in charcoal on cliff faces
From Tom, and Phillip and Gerard Butler
I am from the judges and
The singers
From marshmallow farms and
Watermelon seeds
I am from the Kool Aid Communion and
Stolen animal crackers
I am from Providence and ancient watchtowers
Bangers and Mash and ginger beer
From the crickets, wickens and picket fences
The bright red porcupine
I am from heron beaks and the green shuttered house
With the bow and arrow creek
The plum cherry trees
Young ****** noses
And the note I keep in my pocket to remind me who I am
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
He perches on his black-crate bandstand,
stationed between the payphone and postbox.
The view from his seat never varies:
a restless audience of briefcases and knees.
He closes his eyes, concentrating
on breath becoming buzz becoming blare,
and he pictures his notes glossing Manhattan’s
thunder-colored walls.
Each tone fills the pavement, square by square
until the sidewalk is a harlequin filmstrip,
colored by notes coaxed from his brass mouth.
Passersby withhold their gaze, because giving a nod
obliges giving a dollar, and no one is inclined
to employ this trumpeter. But he pays no mind;
his own eyes secured until song’s end.
As long as his fingers are jumping,
he doesn’t have to be Gerard Wall–
who lost his wife to cancer and mind to the War;
he can be Louis, Miles, or Pinetop Smith.
When he looks up once again,
sun and spirit have faded,
and he watches the evening embers
drift out of his horn.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
Myth
by Michael R. Burch
Here the recalcitrant wind
sighs with grievance and remorse
over fields of wayward gorse
and thistle-throttled lanes.
And she is the myth of the scythed wheat
hewn and sighing, complete,
waiting, lain in a low sheaf—
full of faith, full of grief.
Here the immaculate dawn
requires belief of the leafed earth
and she is the myth of the mown grain—
golden and humble in all its weary worth.
I believe I wrote the first version of this poem toward the end of my senior year of high school, around age 18 in late 1976. To my recollection this is my only poem directly influenced by the “sprung rhythm” of Dylan Thomas (moreso than that of Gerard Manley Hopkins). But I was not happy with the fourth line and put the poem aside for more than 20 years, until 1998, when I revised it. But I was still not happy with the fourth line, so I put it aside and revised it again in 2020, nearly half a century after originally writing the poem! Keywords/Tags: sprung, rhythm, myth, gorse, thistles, wheat, mown, grain, sheaf, faith, grief, golden, humble
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 5:21 AM UTC
"In other words, keep your bad vibes out of my cornflakes I'm not interested."
-Gerard Way
Oct 21, 2021
Oct 21, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
" I see you lying next to me, with words I thought I'd never speak, awake and unafraid, asleep or dead?"
-Gerard Way
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 3:22 PM UTC
you were my first everything
but to you i was just another blip
wasn’t i?
you say i was different
i probably wasnt
in a few months time you’ll forget me
i dont think im being naive
i dont think im attached because of the firsts
i think im attached because of the words
because of the things you said
the love that poured from your mouth
the pure honeysickle, the chocolate that you dont like
the things you said that i’d never ever heard before
not said to me
not ever said to me.
the way you touched me
as though the sun shined through my “ridiculous tan”
as though the stars rushed through my veins
the cool ones on my eyelids i showed you
“let me see them again”
your image is burned behind them
like your name
your hair
your beautiful hair
i’d show you anything
i showed you everything
i know it wasnt a lie
no one’s that good an actor
not even gerard butler or your friend steven
you loved me
you love me?
you kissed me like it was our last every time
until it was
or was it?
the way you spoke
the things you said
straight out of a book on romance and love and romance again
beautiful
stunning
gorgeous
perfect
all words that never really applied to me
- they applied to you
but you didnt believe me
you never once believed me.
not about this.
the most important thing.
almost like the phantom.
you were the phantom and i was christine
at least in your eyes
your beautiful storm eyes a girl could get lost in
i did get lost
i am lost
lost in you
lost in you and your eyes
- you and your hair
- you and your smile
- you and your legs
- your skin
- the patch above your hip
- the space near your…
despite the laughs we shared
the agreement on being friends
i dont know if i can
i have to but i dont know if i can
i dont know if i can forget you
you and your everything
your perfect everything,
- even if you never believed it
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
2/6/2014
the third poem I ever wrote
You were playing with a cloth napkin-
what was it you said? I loved you before?
Yes, I acknowledge that.
What was it you said? Back then
When we were young?
That you were sixteen going on seventeen with the body of twenty and the face of eighteen?
What was it that you said?
My sensitive romantic Byron soul's bruised like a peach.
You are a caregiver- Lillian to Gerard.
I am a person who cannot believe what they are seeing.
I am taking a drink by a window.
I am a sociopath looking for love
The unspoken union we held
in the past with shaky fingers
*god, man, do you have to bring it
up in front of my friends?*
It is the twothousand tens and it
is easy now to know the blood
behind the rind and then meet them for the first time.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
This tortured mind
torturing yet;
the twist and falling depths
no kind of kindness found.
leave off for awhile
and look outside; Rainbows!
Let all His glory through;
Yes Gerard Manley Hopkins;
this one work, will have to do.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
There are many beautiful things here
On earth. Places and persons we may
Visit, never going far from home. It
Is our choice. In nature there are what
Is called "Acts of God"that we have no
Choice about but must get thru them
As best we can. But for much of life
We go to places we would not by an
Act of choice. To be fair there are to
Be sure reasons: to prepare against an
Evil foreseen; to learn from- so to avoid
A next time. We go to war to defend
The peace-afraid to do otherwise would
Be cowardly and invite aggression. There
Is no end of rationales for our sorties near
To the bad place we would not go-whole
Segment of our society and many of our
"Finest"have it in their job description,
Are duty bind to look deeply into hell.
Is there something wrong with this?
Almost certainly. Should we rather be
Like ostriches burying our heads in
The sand. Be liked the three monkeys
That see no evil; hear no evil; speak no
Evil. We should at least be allowed to
Doubt bad news-Knowing Satan is a
Liar. We should doubt the benefit of
Being warned about evil as it so often
Lead to self fulfilling prophecies and
Errors of judgement repugnant to our
Conscience. It is a morass. A world we
Would not and it is all too much for us.
Our world is not as we would have it. If
It is the truth we say unto our God: Let it
Not be so. I give up; it is up to you to make
It better. For my part let me do my best
To contemplate your Grandeur-Oh and
Thank you God for all the dappled things.
Acknowledging my debt to Gerard Manley.
Hopkins and his two famous poems
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
"How are you?"
"Okay..."
"In a good way or bad way?"
"In a Gerard Way."
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 10:58 PM UTC
There was a glorious mix
In 2006
When King Xerxes started ******* with Gerard Butler
By sending his empire’s army
Until that one dude threw a spear like Jay Cutler
Xerxes cheek he was harming
You want land and water? You better stop talking ****
Before Gerard Butler kicks you down the big *** pit
That’s in the middle of our city with no hand rails
Because we believe that caution is where man fails
Gerard Butler will beat all the *****
Of the Persian masses
In a narrow passage
They needed help
To protect themself
The Arcadians are total *******
But they make a fine mess of things
So they caught the immortals looking
For a Spartan death sting
There’s an obese guy with swords for arms
He doesn’t mean anything to the plot
His fellow soldiers are the only ones he harms
He’s just an interesting thought
Gerard Butler wouldn’t let that ugly ****** in his squad
Because he was so flawed
So he pulled a lever and his ties were severed
So the Persians would be better
May that ******* live forever
They proved a god king could bleed
And screenwriters don’t history read
Because that **** is for Athenians
Who like to focus on dreaminess
And not being badass
Or wearing dope masks
So thank you Zack Snyder
After blunt met black lighter
My eyes got smacked wider
In a land where abs are tighter
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
The priest suggested
I read Gerard Hopkins' poems
so I took a copy
to the abbey,
verbum Dei,
inside and out
in books
in souls
God speaks,
what I know
of the divine science
and holy scripture
I learnt
in the woods and fields
Bernard said,
hold me closer
she said
I want to feel
you enter,
I mowed the grass
by the church wall
and Dom Robert said
none do it like you,
Hugh brought
the meals into
the refectory
on the trolley
his thin lips
showed no joy,
Dieu est ici
the French monk said
touching his chest
with a tap of his hand,
viviamo per amare
the Italian monk said
as we walked
from church
to the garth
for afternoon tea,
she lay beside me
her hand touching
my pecker with skill,
charity must not
remain shut up
in the depths
of the heart
said Therese,
faith is an act of will
clinging to God
no matter how
we feel Bruno said,
the abbey bell tolled
echoing along
the cloister
as I walked to my room,
love is the joy
of the good
and the wonder
of the wise
said Gareth
quoting Plato,
I closed my eyes
hoping an extra prayer
would help me grow.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
'MAKE WORDS BREAK FROM ME HERE ALL ALONE, DO YOU!"
( To G.M.H. my saviour )
Grabbed
by my curls
my face forced
into the toilet bowl
flushed with laughter they
with great glee
*** on me.
This the sacred ritual
of becoming
a First Year
in Secondary.
They hang me up
to dry on a coat rack.
I am an all akimbo
feeble bag of flesh and bones
defenceless nerd.
"Tuttuttut!" they tut
"Reading Hopkins at your age!"
I dangle hopelessly
a helpless broken puppet
their brute bullying
mastering me...Lord!
They tear The Windhover
by Christ...from the Anthology.
Scatter the precious words
in a confetti of hate.
I call on Father Hopkins
to come to my aid and
he gives me
his words.
I speak with all the authority
of his voice.
"I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding "
"Shhhhh....shushhhh!" they try to shush me
in case Br. Finbar storms out of his cell
like a soutane'd spider
to see such poetry
scrawled in a scream
upon the air.
But I am not for shushing!
"My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!"
"Shhhhhh.....SHHHHHHH!" they now plead.
"here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!"
"SHHHHHHH,,,,SGGGGGG!" they beg.
But there is now no
stopping me I
am charged with the grandeur
of Gerard Manley Hopkins.
See, they flee before the glory
of his words.
I fling phrase after phrase after them.
His words chasing them.
"No wonder of it:
shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and **** gold-vermillion."
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC
Here in Stratford
upon Avon
our love so
(so Shakespearean)
“...this the very naked name of love...”
& here
upon this
naked hillside
hidden amongst summer’s
long tall grasses
each time
our loving
graced by the presence
of a windhover
as if Gerard Manley Hopkins
blessed our union
sending us this sign
touching us with the beauty
of his lines:
“...a billion times told...lovelier! ”
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
‘Twas the night before Warped Tour, When all through the mosh pit.
Every creature was stirring, and even the dumb twits.
The outfits were hung by the door with care.
In hopes that All Time Low will play there.
The emo and scene queens all scrolling through Tumblr in bed.
While visions of band members sung in their head.
And my Bestie in her beanie and I in my flannel.
Waiting and waiting for the Panel.
When on the stage there arose such a noise.
Then there was abundant amount of joy.
Away from the stage, just far enough to see.
The crowd went into a spree.
The band members enter the newly built stage .
We couldn’t believe that one day this will be the golden age.
What we dreamed was finally here.
It seemed like we were going to disappear.
With my best friend, Panda, by my side.
Before we knew it the stage was occupied.
“Now Flannel, Now Beanie, Now skinny jeans and Band tee.
On Andy, On Gerard, on Vik and Mikey.”
To the top of the stage! To the top of the charts!
Now we all know this was truly beautiful arts.
As Black Veil Brides sang their hearts out.
We were surprised no one blacked out.
Before we knew it they called out the wall of death.
I held my breath.
The teens started to scatter.
We were scared but that didn't matter.
People started to hit and punch.
But all we wanted was lunch.
So we ran away frightened.
But the music left us enlightened.
Next on the stage was the great Pierce The Veil.
But oh look we found a snail.
The music was great.
Even though we were late .
Then we saw on the stage Never Shout Never.
Then in the mosh pit we saw Trevor.
But then we discovered.
He had a gay lover.
We found out his name was Logan.
And Sleeping With Sirens yelled a famous slogan.
“Sometimes you gotta fall before you fly.”
They said with a sigh.
Now that we have a whole group.
It felt like we were stuck in a loop.
It was ever-lasting.
This was happening while the music was blasting.
Soon it was time to go home.
Even though it felt like we were in a dome.
That event now made memories for use to live forever.
We want to go back even though we may never.
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC