"goers" poems
Breaking News
A Robinson’s affair
It has been called party goers in beware
The Pelican Club know fore shoot outs
There are also fights to talk about
The Chef’s have been making guest sick
The Pelican Club is not a good pick
The ratings of the club had been very low
Business is certainly somewhat slow
As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go”
The Flamingo Club is the place to be
When you walk inside this is what you will see
Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties
Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance
The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance
Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance
All kinds of drinks for you to sup
However don’t forget to leave a tip
The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself
The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else
This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know
It goes too show
Take in the Flamingo Club and just let senses go.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey-carts full
Of innumerable melons,
Ovals and *****
Bright green and thumpable
Laced over with stripes
Of turtle-dark green.
Chooose an egg-shape, a world-shape,
Bowl one homeward to taste
In the whitehot noon :
Cream-smooth honeydews,
Pink-pulped whoppers,
Bump-rinded cantaloupes
With orange cores.
Each wedge wears a studding
Of blanched seeds or black seeds
To strew like confetti
Under the feet of
This market of melon-eating
Fiesta-goers.
5.7k
Breaking News
A Robinson’s affair
It has been called party goers in beware
The Pelican Club know about shoot outs
There are also fights to talk about
The Chef’s have been making guest sick
The Pelican Club is not a good pick
The ratings of the club had been very low
Business is certainly somewhat slow
As a poet journalist, I will tell you, “Let the Pelican Club go”
The Flamingo Club is the place to be
When you walk inside this is what you will see
Flamingo bird statues decked out in black and white with an offset of red bowties
Music that will make you serene in an automatic dance
The whole atmosphere will put you in a trance
Yet each dancing step you will seem to advance
All kinds of drinks for you to sup
However don’t forget to leave a tip
The Flamingo Club will make you feel special like the bird itself
The Flamingo Club is not like everybody else
This journalist being the poet in reporting in what you needed to know
It goes too show
Take in the Flamingo Club and just let your senses go.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC
The deterioration of society,
Commonly serves as writing material;
Hell, even I could write about changes
That have lessened our souls.
But I also appreciate the changes
That have bettered us as a collective people;
I dream of collaboration between church-goers,
And those that turn from the steeple.
We've evolved to a new level of acceptance,
And equality that was unknown;
Yes, the "isms" still exist,
But in a much softer tone.
Gender roles wreak havoc,
And some feel elite.
But we've inched closer to equality,
And those roles we will defeat.
I have so much hope for this generation,
The kids that have been raised with new eyes;
We possess views that our ancestors
Would abhor and despise.
Unity and inclusion,
Love and tolerance;
I will preach these things,
Until there is a balance.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
A rain of bullets hit Las Vegas, leaving blacken skies
From disgraceful clouds of a loose cannon.
From the first 911 call to storm's demise
72 minutes downfall took human companions.
For them, life for one minute enjoying country songs
In the unbridled company of each others innocence.
Then good faith served the merry goers wrong
As the concert venue became the tomb of dissonance.
It hurts my heart to follow this story unfold
Of the climbing death toll, making this the worst ever.
Harder to imagine a mass killer cut from this mold
Of being so heartless and desensitized to life he severs.
To the victims accept my cries of condemning this worm
While paying homage to harmonious humans imparted from the eyes of the storm.
Logan Robertson
10/4/17
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 6:36 AM UTC
I don’t want to perpetuate the produce – consume loop
but when I don’t, I feel like such a lazy moocher
Could I play guitar near after dark bars for $23 an hour?
Victor and I did that once, for $11.50 each
Untaxed, that’s better than my dour real job
So, if I really made my place at a street corner, I’d be a smart earner
But then I’d be a fixture, like the accordion man and the bums with PVC buckets
The bar goers would soon hate me for chumping them out of their cash
with three gritty “Heart of Gold” covers
Then soon the mediocre bums would jump me and Riot, my guitar
She’ll smash into the walk under a Irish flag in front of Murphy’s Law,
while drinkers whoop and punch the air
The bucket goes over my head
and the accordion bellows squeeze round my neck
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
Quiet are the fields
with ghosts
from pennants past
the aces
and cutters
set idly away
from the maple
spread fall
soft sounds
of Sunday
(chilling on the boneyard)
telling tales of
validated stars
and wheel house legends
the rally cap sluggers
with mahogany eyes
Mustard colors
in floating mists
give a hallowed glow
to sublime skies
scattered walkers
trip to the hole
their spit buckets
and spigots
pressed loosely into
pure life form
bikers and loners
and curious coffee goers
mill about the horn
whispering numbers
from an old
Keelman heaving
Alley lookers
and Mendoza lines
screachers, bleachers
from years gone by
dancing fingers
and cracks at the bat
moonshots
(from the big time Timmy Jim)
the 9th inning gunner
with sinker
and slider
and imposing
brush back ballz
the game day citizen
and dugout warrior
who lit it all up
in Rockwell fame
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
It’s not a ranking or an achievement
As if far from the “top.”
It’s an advancement
Starting from the “first place”;
The greater magnitude being a positive progression.
It’s not even a race in the “first place.”
A dual-digit place marker can and should indicate you’re moving forward.
At this point, you meet the requirements and criteria
For adult access to many sights, tastes,
And times.
Of course, that’s not the ultimate cause of celebration
For being in [the] “23rd place.”
When you’re in [the] 23rd place, you’re in a comfortable position
And not necessarily at a crucial extremum of attention.
There will be those behind and those in front,
So, though you keep your own pace nevertheless,
To know you’re no longer in first place,
Yet not in last place of your course of path,
Means that you have some to teach
And still some who may offer pointers, tips, tricks, inspirations,
And the gift of encounter, however brief or long.
There are many who long to be in first place or last place
Because the extrema tend to get the recognition.
The important insight is to recognize that, not only do the numbers matter little,
But you can make them stand out, like the number 23.
There’s random selection, too, amid those spontaneous humor-goers,
And then there’s placement and fixation
With purpose, sincerity, and intention.
You’re 23 not solely based on record
Or coincidence;
You’re 23 because you lived out the previous age
In every way: what you missed, what you learned, what you offered,
And what you planted.
On your birthday and every day,
The newness longed for arrives in a time not desired or unwanted,
But at a time just right, which still causes waves of pain and waves of relief
Across space anyway. Happy Birthday Devin!
You’re in [your] 23rd place!
Celebrate this checkpoint!
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:04 AM UTC
A fish, is a bird that cannot fly;
A bird, is a fish that cannot swim.
Eons ago, fishes may have flown;
while birds may have swum.. just
like how i have forgotten the many
things which i had done before...
Loneliness, is the revelry of one person;
Revelry, is the loneliness of many people.
Long ago, the loner had many friends,
while the party-goers used to be loners.
I myself have long forgotten when was
the last time a girl rested on my shoulder.
A fish, is a bird that cannot fly;
A bird, is a fish that cannot swim...
Copyright, Ronnie Ng 2011
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 4:41 AM UTC
Forgiving heart, precious gift from our father God
Image of the lord, can you be like your father God
Image of the lord, forgiving one another is your health in this world.
Painful heart, source of devil words, what a cruel world.
Please, please, learn to forgive and stay away from the devil.
I tend to think long and snoring nights are caused by this devil.
Are you a brethren or a church goer where is your forgiving heart?
Are you a child of God or child of the devil where is your forgiving heart?
Many people give a smile with a lot of grudges.
What a beautiful church with a lot of church goers?
Truth and forgiving one another is something of the past.
Please teacher, evangelist, nurse teach them about grudges.
Man of God, can you pray for grudges to minimize church goers?
Why truth and forgiving one another is something of the past?
-Written By: The Senior
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
*A little nod to
Joseph Seamon Cotter, Jr.*
*As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
There passes across my ceiling
Last year’s thoughts and flashing lights of passing cars*
Three hundred and sixty days of things: clusters:
Horrifying stories of battered women and abuse children
Sickening parents with mental issues trended across the globe:
And a new seasons of Law-in order special Victim’s unit on Netflix
Teenagers and adult on a summer cruise: party hard:
Sunday church goers grasping the holy bible so tight to their *****
like a stick of dynamite golden heirloom
Girls under twenty in their fashion nova curves club outfits
Leaving nothing to the imaginations: the old men will live longer:
According to National Statistics estimates: without their pacemakers
As I lie in bed,
Flat on my back;
There passes across my ceiling,
Last year’s thoughts and flashing days of
Mishaps and misery on my job
As this coming year draws nearer, I pray
That I will find a way
Out of this path I have chosen.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
A huge centipede crawls across the floor
He is black
and his legs are orange.
He is enormous
12 inches
Maybe more
And he rears back and attacks the feet of the passers-by
And they smile and reach down and pat him.
They smile.
And he bites their hands.
Their hands swell up around the two deep punctures,
which are swollen up over, the only sign left being two tiny oozing wrinkles.
The purple hands are polka dotted with yellow and dying veins.
They admire the plethora of color that is now their hand.
From the pain they lust for more and more pain and more and more pain.
They rise from their overstuffed red sofas to the middle of the floor and trade blows.
A girl of twenty with black curly locks falls to the ground with a wet thud
and summons the centipede who bites her in the cheek, piercing the paper thin flesh.
He gets a strong hold on her face and drags her across the floor.
She giggles in delight!
The centipede rips her limb from limb and
She giggles in delight!
Another wet thud.
She had a puffy purple companion in a moment as the centipede drags to her a young man of twenty-one.
Fate!
Their lips meet
and their saliva, thick and curdled mixes.
They giggle in delight!
As the centipede rips them limb from limb.
You look like you're losing weight!
The centipede is finding it.
He eats all but their skulls,
shining in a thin layer of blood,
picked clean of flesh
Locked in a sweet embrace of phantom lips
Until a pugilist twitches his leg in an awkward defensive maneuver and sends the girl's skull spinning across the floor
until it hits against a white wall with a crack
and it splits.
Party-goers begin to trip over the centipede.
And with every wet thud on the floor
another skull is left to be an obstacle for fluid movement.
The centipede has to coil up to be able to fit in the room.
And soon there is one pugilist left
And he scratches the centipede's shiny black metallic and spackled red back with a mangled mass of knuckle
and yellow poisoned veins.
The centipede rears back
But falls back on itself out of its own sheer weight
and its back snaps,
spraying the finalist with a mix of entrails of bug and human kind.
Dec 28, 2009
Dec 28, 2009 at 9:45 PM UTC
The winter has set in early; monsoon a memory now,
the trees are all dusty by the all-day din.
This morning, the taxis ply early, eager to get the office-goers in.
Tea fumes in the mist.
The lady in the bungalow alights from her car
with her child, early from school.
Vegetables still asleep on the pushcart.
An eighties number mingles with the wind.
A van loaded with kerosene cans parks at the gates:
there is a tenement at the basement.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
as the bus pulls along the lazy river on Main,
a slouching mind and pressed cheek is a swimmer,
dipping toes
and meanwhile
the gentle murmur of pool-goers living inaudibly,
like hunched bunches
in shawls of shade
(interrupted only
by the occasional l-urch)
nodding, nodding
off and on and off and
into the water,
the swimmer slips in
...
Here, it is heaven on earth
an oasis
...
and the mind swims ever so far
ever so deep
...
i wonder...
...
and outside
a boy, barefoot
runs upstream
a shimmering second
an apparition of summer?
and out of sight
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:45 PM UTC
Metaphorical stringency
Idiotic transgression
Coat this democratic autocracy
Flailing capitalism slowly drowns
Splashing freedom in the face;
Obeying party goers
Stand as if a wall,
Indeed they are
A rich, extravagant barricade
Of outcasts
As pariahs under cloak
Stab the new age constitution;
Egocentric totalitarianism will sway
At the sight of a metaphysical blade
And the ghastly crown
Will topple to the bottom
The country has shed her lizard skin
Regurgitating for her new flock
Feeding a new set
Of avaricious minds
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 3:32 AM UTC
Eleanor P. Carney sat with her legs folded,
Casually reading a catalogue
As she waited. Her mind drifted
Effortlessly away from Joe until:
"Come this way" said a voice dimmed,
In light of the current situation.
The click of Ellie's t-strap heels
Turned the heads of many
Beauty parlor goers, as she
Was lead to a back door.
A *** of boiling water hosted
Sharp things for slaughter.
"Now, I have to ask,
On account of virtue,
Do you really want to do this?"
The beauty practitioner who
Practiced more than beauty, stood in
The corner, tying an apron
around her thin waist.
Eleanor P. Carney shook her head,
And sat down on the
Cold counter knowing that
She would not regret this.
Ruth L. ****** struggled everyday
To find new ways to disgust herself,
But the lack Ms.Carney's
Shame and guilt would
Do just fine for today.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
After Sunday you stink of hypocrisy
Please don't waste your breath preaching to me
To me it's one big joke
as you line up for the punch line
Wearing your see through clothes
and flaunting your plastered eyes
Keep funding your guilt
as I kick back and criticize
Pockets full of change
I wound not spare a dime
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
I am tired.
Tired of the greed, the materialism,
the artificial realism.
Medicines to cope, false hope..opioids
the killer dope.
I am bored.
Bored with the faithless optimistics, party goers bathing in that sea of chaos...politics.
I am tired.
Tired of the hunger, and the homelessness that at times feeds glory seeking kindness.
I am bored.
Bored with the phones...the internet.
Allowing people to interact without having to connect.
I am tired.
Tired of the why and the what for,
lies of peace masking the truth of war.
I am so very tired and bored but
mostly with me.
More so with myself than with other people, politics and technology.
Sometimes I wish life would just set me free.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
mumbles, jumbles, into the night
my baby phoenix stumbles into its plight
a better life was merely imagined
but my dove, my dear, bitterly determined
huddled witnesses
there! in the square
a drove of fireflies, watching
her rebirth in fire, laid bare.
her tuckered tail, dead-centered --
shaking off crimson pearls of lunar lunacy,
henceforth, bleeding on her own time, her own tenancy.
her talons look at us.
we look at fiery lips that lash and scorch her.
never more before his penetrating gaze,
as her wings form a column of blaze.
she soars, she screams:
but to nothing but scorn --
the square-goers think she is just forlorn.
my dove, my dear, for your ****** death --
I pray it greets not a dragon's breath.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 10:34 AM UTC
Here it comes, again, the busy time for easy goers
Have to keep heads inside the books, and minds at rest
Rest is not an option, options are yet to be explored
Explore your mind, as you walk through the syllabus
Syllabus has sections A, B, C, D, and E
E for easy, go elsewhere
Else, difficult to get through
Through hard work comes knowledge, through the syllabus
Syllabus being covered , meanwhile, time flows like water
Is essential for slaking thirst
Thirst of knowledge, with search and judgement
Judging capabilities, as I walk through the syllabus
|AB|
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
Began at dusk and led us here swiftly.
Along with the wind springtime
blew in new found forms of folly.
Invested in life vests to
rid the sleeves for my heart
To beat upon.
The moon show through
pale blue.
The air reeked of butterfly
winged exhaust pipes.
The ins and outs of
Seasonal rotation.
Life and death as one.
To illustrate landscape stretches
created from scraps of string.
Silence
Says a million different
Things.
Watching a multitude of human
beings from a distance.
I’m distant
from any sort of recognition.
What’s an honor when
the honor is expected
spread evenly among a crowd
of strangers expecting
Futures.
Silence
Says I’m as unique as
classes of identical robe wearing
shower goers;
As unique as uniforms.
Birds know no boundaries
when it comes to bravery
trying to communicate
something to me,
as part of me worries
for their safety.
Freedom is beyond me.
Intuitively,
Silence
Speaks with me.
She's telling me
silent was the bravery feathers
upon impacting the tires packed with pressure
ready to burst at the seems
silent was the bravery upon bursting at her seems
in the rear view mirror I see
wing feather constellations
painting a reality portrait for
me.
Silence
tells me selfishness
is the root of everything.
Silence
tells me mystery
is the beneath the X marks
of all the treasure maps I
painted repeatedly.
Silence
soothes
me.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC
Waiting for the sun to move up more
Lights to fall in full force
On the day
I take my few steps
On worn out path of office goers.
As the life moves on
In the rustle of traffic Jams
Honking of cars
The roads have grown roots
Along with tree lined path
A bright smile
Stretches across in yellow line
A line of school kids
Walk the Zebra cross
in front of my large smile
A new day
Flowering
Traffic Light by traffic lights
As the office blocks looms large
My thoughts reach out to hold hands
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 4:31 AM UTC
Society today
As a whole
Is becoming numb.
We play games
Where we shoot others for fun
**** them
...
Why is it fun?
I can't say
That I haven't tried.
It may be skill
Exploration
Achievement
But that can all be found
Outside.
The sky is still blue.
The trees green.
The grass itchy.
The people laughing.
The party-goers grilling.
Some guns even.
But if you come outside
Don't treat it like a game.
Because it's not.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
impassioned fascists lash facts
together working to bash
brash young activists
envisioning a lasting planet
****** Janet
congress loves the Jews
and the blues of today
means we’ve all flown
over nests impressed
with obese flying flesh..
resting festival goers flow
over Bohemian Grove
with row boats toting
goat cheese
and if it please the court
I will bring back Bermuda Shorts
and with elegant reports on contortionist’s
abortion risks and whisk farm fresh eggs
with Barbie Doll legs in May
under the sway of a fine cognac
Black light heart attack on the first night
after the fourth Blood Moon
bring gloom to the tomb of the unknown
soldier, whose older brother
drank Folders crystals whilst *******
about the listless whisperers
still recklessly wishing for some
environmental recognition or maybe
a shift in the disposition
towards deep sea net fishing
and phishing scammers flooding servers
in service of the undeserving
reservationists……..
native brethren living together in
harmonious balance
with the nature around us
astounds me
and if’n we could only see
that, peacefully
we could be free….
is it only a dream to me
as if Frank and I
were going home,
together –
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC