"gimmicky" poems
We lay aloft the coffee table
While the piano plays our serenade
While the priest is making amends with a man in the shade
That man must be part of some gimmicky charade
So he takes you out to the rose parade
And buys you candy and lemonade
Conclusion is that it's you that he has suddenly played
Another delusion has been made
We lay aloft the coffee table once more
While you try to impress me with open sores
While you try to give me more and more
All in all, you're a ***** *****
Feb 26, 2011
Feb 26, 2011 at 7:14 PM UTC
I gazed at her skin, fried and sprayed orange like the flames
That swallowed her soul, dragged her down to hell with ‘em…
Let her burn.
Staring at her sparkly stripper shoes, I wondered how she could sleep at night.
Well, she probably wasn’t alone.
Her hair, so harsh, bleached blonde beyond compare,
Frail, fraudulent, wannabe beauty
Like her shallow, gimmicky, stage get-up for the guys,
Giving the goods in mass quantity, like a buffet.
How cheap could she be?
I ogled her body, ***** that resembled balloons.
Psh. More like implants.
Honey, you’re not fooling anyone.
Her makeup, tacky and overdone.
It could never be plastered over her tattered self-worth.
I glared at her clothes, or lack thereof, itsy-bitsy and a poor excuse
For a cover-up, of any kind,
Physical or emotional.
Leave something to the imagination, would ya?
Some girls, how pathetic they are.
I’m better. I have morals.
Even if I don’t abide by them…
Even if I despise the creature I’ve transformed to…….
I gaped at the reflection, in the million-watt mirror lit aglow…
Who could this be? It never could be me.
Staring between false eyelashes, she was easy to see.
A party girl. A ***
No, no!
It’s not me…
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 2:33 PM UTC
Hear ye! Hear ye!
Know me and hear me
Oh but please don't look over here at me
What a thing to say, but see
I don't want to be seen, my plea
It feels kinda cheesy
I thought it'd be easy
But it just got so messy so quickly
And the harder I try the more it eludes me
You can't live a life heard but not seen and not be seen as a cautionary
A tale of a someone broken mentally trying to use hurt and pain creatively
Never taken seriously,
Kinda gimmicky
Ultimately a one trick pony
I know it but it hurts still when it's throw back at me
I can't handle the cheeky hostility
So openly hidden in the commentary
It can't be avoided but it's also not necessary
Maybe this isn't for me
Or what's more likely,
Is it's probably not that bad actually
Ah, gee,
Yeah, nevermind, sorry everybody...
I just noticed it's only my insecurity ripping at me
My apology
©2024
May 15, 2024
May 15, 2024 at 4:50 PM UTC
gaga and gall are walking down the street
gaga sees some bling, gall goes in and steals
they end up in the slammer and gansta's
there to greet
gall punches gangsta and naturally gore appeals
gaga wakes from the dream, guts tries to console
he offers her an option and they both get outa' da hole
now gall, gangsta and gore while in solitary
meet with goner and good ol' grouch
glory hallelujah comes up with the key
all escaping sideways from sleeping gangeree
they keep running into gutter, introduced to giddy
all on this gollywoggle jolly hallow night
all whipped up and painted by yours truly
gimmicky.
(halloween 2016)
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
14
Every song or sonnet
singular in its intricacy,
in time it becomes something
other, hyper-personal and resonant.
14 things may burst into millions.
13
Three times I've felt alone
this minute. I should stop tallying
hours in my schedule, messy
rubric.
12
11-years old and jumping off
mud-mounds, playing King of the
Hill. The strongest rises to the top.
The cleverest usurps.
11
One thing for certain:
we are human. We are
not human.
10
Six times in school I got
detention. It was often due
to my willingness to be a
follower, silly sheep to a
slaughter.
9
Five languages of love we are
sure of, no more so far.
8
10 tally marks looks a lot
like less. Some things, like
people, refuse to show their
face.
7
13 is supposedly an unlucky
number. At this age I uncovered
a part of myself I did not know
before. Discovery. This is luck.
6
A dozen is meant to represent 12
because it is simpler, same syllables
only one less letter, a convenience.
5
If you flip an eight on its side
you can see forever.
4
Seven times I've thought this poem
gimmicky.
3
[redacted for time constraints
and continuity]
2
The artist places her pen to
paper and borrows, not stealing
so much as salvaging, wrapping
old presents in neat new bows,
satin or silk or rough twine.
Nine variations on the same
subject.
1
Four lids harbor two eyes,
a galaxy, universe,
each hiding half a heaven
from view.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
I saw you on the stage today
covering your *******
You looked like me in some sad way,
bruised white thighs and bony chest.
I saw you on the stage today;
my belly filled with dread:
You looked like me, but gimmicky
and grimly oversexed.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
*i write what i see, i encode images with sounds...
hence my simple life,
and the complications of speaking as noted
and the complicated life around me as unsaid.*
so fragile - poetry so ably juggling
paedophilia and an identity -
i could almost leave a snarl and a gimmicky
phlegm in it ~ ᛞᚨᚻᚨᚱᚷᚨ'ᚻ... ᚢᚾ!
the Arab wishes his were Rune.
i own a cat unafraid of a thunderstorm, that's enough
for a C.V. where i come from -
but where this writing comes from it's unlike
thus stated -
it's probably a thoroughly read lord of the rings
rather than an unread book readied for
cinematography - because that's were books end up,
in a pile of wished-up "page-turners" of charity shops
turned into blockbusters of Hollywood
for a timescale of kept blisters;
or nothing at all, and best kept admired like
cheesy pop songs you'd play at your wedding disco
to imagine yourself being undressed
and hence dancing on stilts via woman
and in stilettos via man.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
Don't practice
and **** up
and acquire finesse and skill,
but, rather,
pay a fuckton of money
and get some gimmicky ****
to fill that void
in your ego instead.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
.i'll continue drinking and writing my attache verses for one reason alone... the culinary Frankenstein, needs to be erased from both my memory, and my palette.
death: solace for the few,
that delve(d) into life.
i don't know,
i just like the way it sounds,
akin to:
(have you) ever danced
with the devil, in the pale moonlight?
or...
a handshake with your own
shadow, is, the devil's pact.
sometimes a violin is just a violin
is a violin...
not exactly the gimmicky
paupers' instrument of choice...
a handshake with your shadow
is... the devil's pact...
hey... i wasn't born to be
a mechanic...
sometimes the sound of
car engines aren't exactly
******* emblems to propagate...
****
like the sound of a beehive
isn't something honed,
giving you a symptom of:
necessarily running toward it
to see what's more
to see than a collectivized
agitation reaction, hostile.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC