"gilmore" poems
She is my friend
She is the one who said that
She is not interested in my love
She is independent
She is wonderful
She is beautiful
She is kind
She is witty
She is smart
She is my Pam Beasly
She is my Rachel Greene
She is my Gilmore Girl
She is the one that I wait for
She is perfect
She is my forbidden fruit
She is Awesome
She is Nice
She is Neat
She is Amazingly smart
She is a goddess of perfection
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
I was conceived on acid and whippets, the drugs a kaleidoscope of umbilical dreams.
I was conceived on bad luck and lust, from darkness and sexually exploitive childhood trauma.
I was conceived on teenage dreams and difficult childhoods, to black sheep children of 17.
I was raised on addiction and narcissism, a love bomb here and authoritarian abuse there.
I was raised on the chess long game, to lose a piece here means to win at the end.
I was raised on 2000s tv, Lorelei Gilmore my wish for a mother, Rory my idol.
I taught myself strength in building up a fantasy on the outside while my castle crumbled within.
I picked myself up by the tendrils of a lost childhood, by the whispers of good memories, by the hiding places I found in pages upon pages of someone else’s imagination.
And I let it all go at 28. To find peace. To start over. To build myself a new castle with no more haunted corners or echoes of pill bottles or smells of ***** and orange juice permeating the breaths of those who walk these sacred halls.
Rib cage cut open, heart destroyed and renewed, ancient umbilical nooses cut with teeth.
I will no longer fall victim to my mother’s circumstances or my father’s mistakes, I will never have the soul I’ve created look at me and ask himself if he is loved or safe.
I am cycle breaker,
I am generational karma’s worst ******* fear,
I am no longer frightened maiden,
I am fearsome mother.
I am new.
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 12:15 PM UTC
words cannot describe this woman i know,
but I will try anyways.
this girl has been by my side for 6 years now,
she's seen me at my lowest and at my highest.
i believe God put her in my life to bring me closer to Him,
and to learn how to love more like Jesus, to love Gilmore Girls, to lean into my passions, and so much more.
what more can I say about this woman?
she's truly a gift from God to all who meet her.
she lights up the room as she walks in, she loves God so much, she loves others fiercely, she has so much depth and creativity bottled up inside her, compassion flows through her words, she is one of the smartest people I know and one of the best examples of selflessness I've ever seen.
there is so much more to this girl right here,
but words, a man-made concept, things made up of a few letters here and there, are simply not enough to capture an amazing creation like that of Katrina.
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 6:01 PM UTC
I really should be studying, I know,
but I can’t help logging in.
I’ve done some work today already, though,
would one episode be a sin?
Just to check on the friends with the apartment and the purple door,
or maybe the ones from the Scranton office who sell paper.
I also want to know what Eleven is up to,
and definitely Rory and Lorelai Gilmore.
I’ll curl up with a blanket here and i’ll make some popcorn later.
I think this was a good decision — it does say “Recommended For You.”
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 10:43 PM UTC
To whom do I belong?
To the cold morning
and the unrelenting pound of my feet,
to meet the waistband of my favorite pants.
To whom do I belong?
To the cries of the babe left momentarily alone
while I halt time in the motion of rushing water and clarifying peace
in being simply clean.
To whom do I belong?
To the man who comes home from a career
I gave up to care for others,
To the man who pours into me every need, secret, thought and dream without cease?
While I silently and forever support.
To whom do I belong?
To the child so afraid of the world after years of hurt
Best friend, Gilmore girl, dreamer with an uncertain expiry date.
To whom do I belong?
To the food raised,
The clothes mended,
The laundry flapping in the wind,
The music that surges through my thoughts and never ends
And is reluctantly reminded "later, later, later my friend".
To whom do I belong?
To the old man now dying, tended by many
Yet wanting wanting wanting the role of my beloved or child
While his wife and all push me to take what she has abandoned
To give of me the parts of her she won't share
Untangling from a blackberry bush full of webs.
To whom do I belong?
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 4:21 PM UTC
I always carry a pen in my pocket.
I watch I Love Lucy reruns when I’m upset.
Chocolate is my obsession, my “péché migon.”
I listen to quiet chatter and music without lyrics when I’m trying to focus.
I am far from a picky eater, but I cannot stand ketchup or licorice.
Watching Gilmore Girls religiously for five years taught me that life is too short to talk slowly enough for people to understand you.
I find the world hilarious.
Making it easy for people to laugh with me is my goal.
I ogle over Ducky from Pretty in Pink with my best friend every time I need a reminder that not all boys are ****
I want to walk down the aisle holding a bouquet of stargazer lilies, as my mom did before me, and I lose myself in Degas’ “L’étoile” every so often.
Burt’s Bees honey lip balm reminds me of my childhood Winnie-the-Pooh scratch-and-sniff book.
Every cup of Constant Comment tea, pair of jeans that fits perfectly, night spent listening to rain hit the roof, and run through damp grass with bare feet reminds me that life is beautiful.
Once, I ate so much pineapple I burned the lining of my mouth.
I cried the first time I heard “Save Us” by Cartel and saw the ending of Cyrano de Bergerac in French.
I am going to marry the genius who invented cinnamon brown sugar Pop Tarts.
Everyday, when I leave the house, I blow a kiss to the picture of Walter Payton my dad hung above the doorway to our garage.
When on vacation, my family and I buy pastries and coffee and walk in front of a jewelry store, attempting to recreate the scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Life should be a little crazy most of the time.
I may seem difficult to live with, but I’ve shared a room with my little sister for fifteen years, and she only hates me sixty-three percent of the time.
I hope that you are up for a few good laughs and an extraordinary year.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
It’s December, it’s foggy and rainy, but that fits. Of course, a rainy Saturday means gathering in the common room with my roommates and watching either “The Hunger Games” or “Twilight.” Leong’s never seen Twilight, believe it or not, what are they DOing in China? We were explaining that It’s ok to talk through Twilight because it’s completely senseless. Yeah, good times.
We got back from Thanksgiving break, and we had to hit it - grinding to squeeze half a semester into 18 days. It’s a cornucopia of pressure. Yes, we’ve hit the books, but we’re still us.
Here’s a question: What’s the first season in December? “Spotify wrapped” season! EVERYONE has Spotify and once a year you get a summary of your listening habits. The reports came out this week and it’s all people are talking about. Comparing their lists, artists, tastes. Those lists say a lot about someone and it’s ok to not have taste, we should normalize it.
My top artist was Taylor Swift (duh) my top song was Taylor Swift’s “Renegade,” Spotify says I listened to it 285 times but that’s biased because more than once, when writing a paper, I put that song on a loop for 6 hours. My second most listened to song was “Champagne Problems” By Taylor. That song is so Rory, Gilmore Girls coded - like Rory saying, “you're on your own.” My other top artists are TV Girl, the backseat lovers and hypo campus. Yeah, I roll big.
Taylor’s also been in the conversation because Sophie has an ex-fem-friend (a freshman) who started seeing a 45-year-old guy. Let me ask you, what does a 45-year-old man have in common with an 18-year-old girl? We have Yale friends in their early 20s who consider themselves still teenagers and children and THEY are horrified. It’s naked fracking ********** (Sorry, that one foamed over.)
The whole situation is ripped from Taylor’s 2010 masterpiece “Dear John,” which is about her dating John Mayer when she was 19 and he was 30-something. Her friends warned her, but she wouldn’t hear. Taylor Swift can be corny, and I love the corn, but she can be topical too and even though I was 7 when she released “Dear John” (2010), it’s a timeless lesson.
Dec 3, 2022
Dec 3, 2022 at 2:01 PM UTC
Beyond the halo-tinged pavements
Lie corridors devoid of rust
Joyful and triumphant,
Inviting all the faithful to drop by.
Lanterns of every color
Dance and sing and call out
To us, the travelers
Who won't even bother spending a cent.
The eerie gloss of a choir
Rings far and beyond the forests
Of broken glass that
Challenge it note for note.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 10:11 AM UTC
comfort comes in many forms
scented soft garments against my skin
recollections of your kissses
your eyes, and kind words
audacious pronouncements of Lord Henry
mystic deliria of containing multitudes
melatonin and gilmore girls dvds
at last, sleep crawls into my bed
"i was waiting for you to finish your poem"
she says
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
Dear Leslie,
This year was the first in ten years that I didn't tell you happy birthday, that I didn't even speak to you at all. It was an unremarkable day, special to very few (since you share your secrets with only a handful of souls) and I know, before me, it wasn't special to you. But our friendship made it so, our beautifully, tragic, amazing friendship. All the trips to the movies and running down Main St. in the rain. Scarfing sushi in your car while we talked about our day. Buying too many Redvines and eating peanut butter cups until our teeth hurt. . .those memories were treasured on your birthday.
For a decade, we celebrated every December, our dark and twisty version of Gilmore Girls as we mooned over Hollywood stars and wrote out all our fears and worries else our hearts exploded from the weight of having to contain them. (Because, God knows, we couldn't tell our mothers anything without receiving ridicule.)
Things changed after she took her life, and you called me in tears. It was the day after your birthday and we hadn't seen each other in awhile and you were away at college, but that didn't change the fact that I was your first and second and third call after you got the news.
I picked up the phone, and everything changed. She was gone, and had made a mausoleum of your birthday.
I hated her for it. I still do. If I believed in magic, I'd bring her back just to **** her for you. For stealing all the birthday memories we'd shared and built together, a fragile fort against the destruction her very presence brought in your life.
I'm sorry she ruined your birthday for you, and I'm sorry we haven't spoken in months. I hate the distance between us, and it feels like a deeper chasm than any heartbreak I've experienced. Blood may come and go, and so may romance. But our friendship was supposed to withstand all of that, because we had each other's backs.
I still have yours, even though we don't speak anymore
Even though I didn't wish you a happy birthday this year.
Forgive me.
Con amor,
Your Friend
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
by James Bruce
You’re the top!
You’re the top!
You’re a Millard Filmore,
You’re the top!
You’re the Girls of Gilmore,
You’re lucidity’s not Huckabee’s weird views,
You’re an immigrator,
A great debator,
You’re not Ted Cruz!
You’re the style,
Of a Ronald Reagan,
You’re the smile of a foxxy Megyn,
Were you Hillary, you’d be pilloried, and flop!
But if Donald, Ailes’s the bottom, you’re the top!
You’re the top!
You’re the Wall of China,
You’re the top!
You’re acute angina,
You’re hyperbole that’s a felony in Queens,
You’re Rand Paul’s mama,
Barack Obama,
You’re full of beans!
You’re the star,
Of the G.O.P. camp,
You’re a jam on a Christie bridge ramp,
I’m a crippling loan, a Roger Stone, a flop!
But if baby, Jeb’s sunk lower, you’re the top!
You’re the top!
You’re a well-coiffed dandy,
You’re the top!
Your hair’s cotton candy,
You’re assets vast that cast a glow of Trumpf
You’re a Carly visage,
The Greenwich Village,
You’re Friedrich Drumpf!
You’re demure,
You’re a friend of pollsters,
You’re the spur on some heels with holsters
I’m not fit to race, too commonplace, a sop!
But if Donald, I’m rock bottom, you’re the top!
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
On his bed
in his room
George sees the remains
of Gilmore laid out
****** and foul smelling,
Polly tries
to get him
to lie down for a while
to rest
to calm his mind
and nerves,
Gilmore's remains
are laid there
he says
pointing to the bed
with a shaking finger,
Polly looks at the bed
where George's pyjamas
fresh cleaned lie
ready to put on,
George stares at her
move them
put them
some place else
he says
his finger
shaking faster,
Polly removes the pyjamas
and places them
on the dresser
over by the wall
and turns back to George,
I have laid them to rest
she says taking hold
of his shaking hand in hers
and taps it gently,
he mutters about
the stench of the trench
about the young soldier
who shook so much
when the whistle
to go over the top blew
he ****** himself
and shook so much
we left him there left him,
George stares ahead
at the bed holding on to
Polly's hands and mutters
left him there,
Polly wishes George
was his old self
and would take her
in his bed as he had
before the War came
now he shakes and stares
as if all around him
were explosions and flares.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
mum always breaks my heart
she always knows how to tear me apart
she can very cheerily be so nice
the wrong word can make her turn to ice
most of the time she's distant
solid, fortified, distinctly resistant
but intent on my every word choice
note the changing of tone in her voice
sometimes she's odd, accepting;
after two days she's bored and back to neglecting
searching out 'wrongs', use to ream me
she knows the exact strings to pull and unseam me
and it hurts even worse when I see that she tries
she always gets my hopes up & dashes them in front of my eyes
then she goes into her fantasy land
we're Lori&Rory; Gilmore, talking men
I try to play along; it's hilarious to see
that as hip as she likes to think she is, she's as bad at this as me
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Dana Gilmore said it best when she said "you can cry me a river you can cry me a sea"
And yellow rage asked "what do you know about being Asian? "
But I am asking you. What do you know about me?
Did you know that my friends and I are eternally separated?
No you didn't. And I can tell you why.
You were there and I was here and I cannot get there as I am trapped here and you cannot leave there because if you leave there then you are here. Or you will just disappear.
Did you know that my father is the person who inspires me most?
No you didn't.
When he was here, he was here and he was there and he was everywhere. But now that he's not here he is still everywhere. To me he is kept near. He has never and will never disappear.
Unless you forgot who I am, you remember that I know all. I have so many secrets coating my skin that I could tell all and I still wouldn't be raw.
Did you know me before?
No you didn't
You never saw the paint thrown from there or the boys tripping me and running from here.
Now do me a favor and forget the entire flow so far. And listen to me.
You call me mean. But when I was nice I was jumped, bullied and humiliated.
You call me aggressive. But when I was easy going I was the one that ended up hurt time and time again.
You call me crazy. But when I was sane it was never right.
Normal I could never be, laid-back only with friends is me, nice to only the sweet.
So tell me what you know about me.
Tell me what I said when you weren't there
Tell me what I think when I see you
Tell me what I am supposed to say supposed to do suppose to think.
Tell me who I am supposed to be.
And after you do. Do me a favor and permanently cross that river and then cross that sea.
Because after that you are nothing to me
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
The New Future roar +
Gimme Gimme
Better salaries 2018
Hard years or light years
Galaxies
Hey 19*,20?,21$,
22 my birth number
September Saphire blue
What's true the roar-ins
The movies the cold cuts
Getting hot
Boar head bites
The crybaby nights
Roaring Twenties Flights"
It's time for the modern
"I Dare" to be on the edge
Just Dodge
Men at war draft ins
Pennies for their thoughts
Dr. Who am I drugs new
laugh-ins
She's the boredom
Monday- millenium
"Gatsby Gorilla"
Tuesday Tarrantula deadend
It been a long weekend_____
Money is the killer
Ransom not a fandom
The Samson and Delilah
"Gilmore Ladies" Halleluah
Stocked up on mercedes
Flapper dancers flipped
a coin
They marched in computer
lion
Whats in your pocket
Now Hewlett Packard
Hackers and fast and furious
snackers
(The Thirties) centuries gowns
Kitchen the wife cooks
Turkey tough food 4 the soul
Davie Bowie ground control
Bowing down "Beek Jerky"
The golf player the hole
in goofers those penny loafers
Coffee and cars comedians
"Seinfeld" is money gold
Jiffy peanut butter
Sandwiches spread with love
I love you "Mother" Miss Kleinfeld
I am getting married
Those emmy awards looking worried
What's edible Mr Hannibal
with attachmnents Mrs cannibals
The love can (B) incredible
Cornish Hens
Another day like Zen
Those Stepford wives perfect ten
Eyes of Fifty shades of poodle skirts
New Jersey housewives movie cut
Greek goddess of Ulysses lit
Greek yogurt creamy lips possess
New future what to address
Wordy so quirky time gets
spooky
Look alive get perky
The future for me is right now
Jersey strong "New Jersey"
All Excell moon solar system
The future I got the rhythm
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
Gilmore, Waters, and Wright,
Powerful message you send across the waves this night,
Full of valor, sorrow,
Righteous fury and duty,
To a man who in the forest of his mind,
He is his own blight.
But a hollow shell of what you once were,
A pale imitation,
Your psyche fractured and raw,
You flew too high and burned too bright,
An Icarus to all those that saw your star dim and fall,
You got them out of the trenches, but was bogged down by the machine gun fire that is the world.
But it is too late to turn back, you say in your own mind,
I'm but a white dwarf,
An small insignificant thing that is but a husk of its previous glory and splendour,
But you must realize this,
Little white dwarf star,
Before the inevitable heat death of the universe,
These white dwarves will be the last thing burning,
After everything else goes cold and dark.
So shine on
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
Sitting here alone,
Atop a pile of ash and burnt paper encased filters,
As Plant tells me of a girl long past,
Causing me to reminise.
Met by chance,
And instantly captured by your pure differentness,
The tint given to you by the city seemed to almost glow off of you in amber waves,
So different to what I was use to growing up in the Midwest.
Your starkness in the way you went about things,
Your personality drawing me deeper still.
Guilt I felt upon realizing what these sensations were,
For you were the sister to a man I could easily call a brother,
And tales told seemed somewhat tainted,
I knew some of your story without you knowing,
Like an invasion of privacy without doing anything wrong.
I'd come to visit you and the family,
My first trip to a place so large,
Everything so tall,
Nothing but in person did it injustice,
But alas I was only passing through.
I'd end up nestled into the mountains and lakes of the deep north,
And sometimes when flying I'd imagine I could just see the tips of the scycrapers on the horizon,
Like fingers on a hand waving a hello.
Plant has already left,
Waters, Gilmore, and Wright take his place,
Telling a most mournful tale,
The mound is growing quicker by the minute,
Teeth were unconsciously being ground.
When returning sometime later,
You could instantly see through the ruse,
Of the damage being hidden,
That the smile wasn't quite reaching my eyes,
But you said not a word,
For you knew I wasn't ready to talk.
I look away ashamed at our last meeting,
Hurting and lashing out,
Acting in a way quite opposite of the way I was raised.
I sit here now alone,
The guise long gone,
Leaving me with a parched throat.
Stepping out to the porch,
I look to the east,
To where the woods lay,
And imagine the glow of the city lights on the horizon,
So that New York Girl doesn't seem so far away.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC