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DieingEmbers May 2013
The Googly Goo and the Boogly Boo
set of one day for war

but the Boogly Boo and the Googly Goo
did not like what they saw

the Boogly Boo to the Googly Goo
said sod this let's have tea

and the Googly Goo to the Boogly Boo
said yes  and smiled sweetly


:)
Make Tea Not War
Beinghonest Mar 2016
I wonder if you've noticed,
I'm becoming less appealing,
Our conversations are getting very...
Very, boring...
And I wonder if you've noticed,
That I'm becoming less appealing.

You can tell me,
I didn't meant to approach you,
It was a decision made in a split second,
And it seems like my heart's voice was louder than my brain's then:
I'm being honest,
My chest was about to explode,
My heart was a ticking time bomb
And I could only disarm it by giving it a voice,
Converting its electric impulses into sound waves.

But now,
It's been a while since then,
And,
We're drifting apart...
I haven't told you that I nicknamed you zebra because of that cute black and white shirt you had on...
Because,
I'm scared that would just trigger the slow end of our...
Our?!
I mean,
It will make our friendship awkward.
I told my friends I don't like you,
But apparently you like me -
But, I just have a question,
After getting to know me -
Ummm... Have I lost my charms,
Or are you still googly-eyed over the stupid fifteen year old boy that nearly tripped over his own words as he uttered, "You're very pretty"?
I bet she's getting bored, and I feel bad, like I've wasted her time lol :v

-just being honest
Tracie Bulkley Sep 2014
I'm the next act on stage.
Good.
It's about ******* time all that needed to be said
Finds a way to get out.

So here's the thing:
I've made mistakes
I've ****** up a lot, and I'm willing to admit that
Because every ******, I learn from it
Unfortunately sometimes it takes more than once.

So my first big ******:
I made love.
18 years old, questioning everything
ANGRY for the first time in my life
Really truly ANGRY
and REBELLIOUS
Like I've never been before.
So angry at a God that presumed
To ask everything of me and give nothing back
Who took and took and took and took
And let others take from me, from others
Especially women, a long long time ago
And maybe they were stupid
And maybe they were awful people
And maybe they deserved it but they were STILL PEOPLE
Still women
Still girls like me
Scared and lonely
Hungry for an outlet for all of the ****** passion
And anger DEAR GOD SUCH ANGER
That had built up inside.

So I was mad
And I felt alone
Except for one thing
Him
He who I now look back on and wonder what
My rational brain could have seen
In a hundred thousand eons of pain and suffering and loneliness
What it could have seen in a rat
In a **** like him
But he wasn't that bad
I'm just angry

We made love
We loved each other
And I had anger
So we made love.
As if loving each other made it alright
Because what they never tell you in Sunday school
What they never really get across with all the
"Shou shalt not's" and "Don't touch that's"
About chastity
What they do tell you is don't do it
But they never ******* tell you why
Because it isn't going to last.
It really just isn't
Even though you think it will
Put that stupidity aside and see for JUST A SECOND
It won't.
Just assume it wont.
And you'll be with someone else
And they'll be hurt
They will actually be ******* SHATTERED
That you didn't save anything special for them
That you have nothing to give them that you didn't first give to someone else.

So yeah, I left.
I'm usually the one that leaves.
Out of 10's or 20's of loves
I'm the one that usually loses it first
Except for twice...
Nah... Nah now it's thrice.
And I loved again
And left
And I loved again
And left.
And at one point I felt sorry for what I did
But nah, that was an illusion
Brought on by the tears he wept when I told him
I had nothing left to give only to him.

Then I met another Him
And I told him early because
I was SO SICK AND ******* TIRED
Of having to hide what I had done
Pretending to feel guilty about making love
To a little **** who I loved once
But no, he wasn't that bad
He didn't know any better
I'm the ****. I am.

So I told him
And he got scared
But then he came back...
Oh my god he came back, I thought he would leave.
And he held me tighter
And he loved me more
And he forgave me
He moved on
He trusted me
But back up a little.

And breathe.

His name was Hunter.
And when I met him, I was dating the guy I thought I would change for
And a week later I left.
And I immediately got googly-eyed over Hunter
But also someone else.
His name was Collin.
Collin got to me first, because,
Crazy thing
He seemed more mature
And like he could handle it better if I didn't want to be attached yet
So I told him I didn't want anything serious
And we made out.

And then I started falling more for Hunter
Because Collin was a one-upper.
And Hunter was sweet and interesting
Intelligent in speech
On our first date
We discussed Neitzche in a ****** local burger joint
And he was beautiful
In my life I don't think I will ever find Adonis in the flesh again
And eventually, after trying very hard
I got him to kiss me
God how he kisses is like tasting wine
And has the same affect on my mind
And excites my body beyond what I've felt before
And that lasted the whole time I was with him
It still hasn't gone away
To this day if he kissed me
I think my cells would fly apart with joy

Now here's where my shittiness comes back in
And makes everything confusing
So I was making out with Collin one night
And Hunter the next
And I told them both
I ******* TOLD HIM
"We are not dating."
I said that.
Exactly that.
Meaning there is NO commitment
NO expectations
YOU can do whatever you want with whoever
AND SO CAN I

Eventually Hunter persuaded me to be his girl.
So I basically just started ignoring Collin
Stopped making out
Stopped hanging out
Stopped talking pretty much
So I could be with just the one I had COMMITTED myself to.
And we were happy.
Until I told him.

Then he was hurt.
He felt betrayed
Even though I ******* TOLD HIM
WE ARE NOT DATING
During that time
He felt he had claim on me during that time
Just because he had kissed me
He said "I wish you had told me how little a kiss means to you
I would never have ******* kissed you."
And I got ANGRY
And then you know what?

I said I'm sorry
I said you're right
I said "I put his feelings before yours, that was wrong, and it will never happen again."
I should've never done that.
I didn't do anything wrong.
And I gave him power over me
That no one should ever have.

We spent the last month or two
In despairing bliss
Knowing that at the end of the college semester
Which had been so short
He would go home to Georgia
And I would return to the mountains
And I had played the long-distance game before
And would not do it again

I should have just taken what I could get

So the last day, we helped each other pack
We cried
So much
Into each other's shirts and shoulders
Hearts breaking but hopeful
For a promise
I promised him
AND THIS IS THE ONLY THING I PROMISED
That at the end of the summer
We would both be available
So that we could try again
THAT'S IT

So I cried my way home
And he took his plane
And we Skyped until 2 his time every night
After about another month
The usual sadness and loneliness hit
Being home is bad for me
I lose sense of up and down
As I feel my wheels spinning on the ice
In the freezing summer between springs
I missed him
So much that I felt empty
I ached and hungered and died every day
Though it was nice to see my old friends again
But the worst thing happened
I remembered that I like flirting
And I had already ****** up once

Why not do it again?
Three more times?

For two months I didn't make love
I ******
Mindlessly
Cuddled for a bit with a friend
Then he'd admit he liked me
I'd tell him I wasn't going to date this summer
And he'd get hard
And he'd get insistent
"We can just be friends with benefits"
He'd say
He genuinely liked me
They always did
One even said he loved me
I had no such emotion for them
I just wanted to not feel so alone

So we'd cuddle, talk, kiss, ****,
And I'd go home every time still empty
Still cold
Still alone
And sad
And guilty
And for two months I wandered around in that hell
Wondering why it wasn't getting any warmer
Wondering how the **** I was still alone
With all these men that wanted me so bad
And every night as I fell asleep I thought about Hunter
Oh God... I could never tell him
No, he would never understand

And he didn't.
When I finally told him
Not because it was any of his ******* business
BECAUSE IT WASN'T
We were not dating
There was no commitment
No promises except that I'd be there in the end
We kept admitting love for one another
Which was a mistake in retrospect
But he had no right to feel such claim on me

The worst part was that he had asked me over the summer
And I had lied and justified
And gotten angry
SO ******* ANGRY at him
Every time he got suspicious
HE HAD NO ******* RIGHT
And I got angry
Because I was guilty
Especially because it wasn't helping
And all I wanted was him

So I told him
Not because he had a right to know
But because I finally trusted him enough
And wanted no secrets between us
Wanted one SINGLE ******* PERSON
Who I could show my whole self to
Tell everything to
Just one
And I wanted it to be him
And he was angry

And oh god for days he was angry
And every night he made me cry
Because I told him to let it out
That it might help
So he called me *****
He called me ****
He called me cheater
He told me that nothing meant anything to me
That nothing was special to me
Nothing physical would ever be special or worth anything from me
But... But I still don't understand
Honesty
That was important to me
That was everything to me
And I had given it to him
I don't understand
Why he walked all over it
Why

That
That's enough
I can't talk about this anymore right now
Ask me again another day
Just not right now

Alright I guess I should anyway

So the last month of summer
I was with no one
I spent every night Skyping him
Every night either crying in the hurt of his angry words
Or singing my love and praises for him
And when he went on a trip and couldn't call me
I took pictures and screenshots every night
To show him I wasn't out again
I was at home
Safe
Alone
Waiting for him

A month it went on like that
Until it was finally one week before school
I drove down to the college, picked him up
He greeted me at the door and I lept into his arms
And he held me and we cried
And there was love
And I felt complete
And I could finally breathe again
And the gasps wracked my body with pleasure and pain

I took him and we spent a week of heaven
In my home in the mountain
He met my family
And they all loved him
And we talked
Once in a while there would be a sad moment
But he said he'd try
He said he loved me
And I had hope...

Why didn't he try?
He left me when we got back to school
Why didn't he stay
I don't understand
I've tried so hard
I've mended fences with God
Hoping he can help me
But it's taking time
And it doesn't mean anything to Hunter
Why?
I told him all of the truth
All of it
And laid myself at his feet
Just asking that when he was done abusing me
Done being angry
Done with his vengeance
That he would love me
And keep me
And stay
But he left
I don't understand
I tried. So hard.

And I can't let go of him
How can I?
I invested my whole self in the warm and golden dream
Of lying in his arms at night
I changed myself to be what he wanted
I changed my mind to match his
What more could I do?

Don't I deserve forgiveness?
Haven't I earned just one last chance?
Qweyku May 2014
Just how does warm weather conjure
the inebriated
&
lovers,
on to
Londons’ Tube?

Are sweaty nights
an aphrodisiac tune,
to an alcoholic groove?

Wavering
tight stepped shuffles,
paired with
googly-eyed,
hand-clasped,
lip-locked,
snuggles.

Inward thought
toothpicking the corners of mouths,
as cheerful eyes spy
the Underground antics of the South.
That off the shoulder dress,
stranger clothes,
newer shoes;
a fashionista bazar,
A fleeting memory is
Winters’ white metaled fire.

Hapless in this weather
what else to do but smile?
Is it not so much easier than to revile?

Warm weather has a mission…
dismiss disgust.
Go on London smile.
It’s a must.

**© Qwey.ku
As one who's born in England
There is something I don't know
Exactly what is "cricket" ?
Please tell me so I'll go

Both teams dress in white
The bowler doesn't bowl
He doesn't bend his arm to throw
I don't understand the goal

The ball goes out it scores six runs
But it must go in the air
The ball rolls out it scores four more
Is this really fair?

The games can last for days and days
But what confuses me
Is that every game at four o'clock
The players stop for tea

A game is called a test
But is every test a game
some may last for just one day
The length is not the same

There's a throw they call a googly
I know what that means
I got hit there playing hockey
It ***** your breath so you can't scream

There's wickets and there's bails
mid slips, and those silly stumps
I'm sure that if it confuses me
What does it do to umps?

The biggest question that I have
Besides, what's a sticky wicket?
Is of all the players on the field
Which one of them's the cricket?
Ben Brinkburn Jan 2013
‘They’re my babies
everyone of ‘em’ she grins
Barb is happy she’s released another character
into the world
Tommy Tickeroo the Angry Alarm Clock
and a publisher is interested
and I’m happy for her and
a bit drunk
more than a bit actually been in the Beehive
since it opened at 11 in the morning
and I’m flicking through the artwork
and Barb is drunk too and trying not to flick
*** ash on her brother’s sketches
of a red ******* alarm clock with googly eyes
and a little moustache
and I wonder about myself
and the book that’s proving a ****** to write
and the cliché of putting those authorly trials
into a poem
I am going to stumble home and write
a poem about a dragonfly instead
darting around on gossamer wings
or a pome as Barb calls it
let’s all write pomes together then have a sing and a dance
‘I’m genuinely pleased for you’ l lie and she grins
and puts her head on my shoulder
and I drunkenly go for the *****
down and out and ****** like a **** for The Art
in the middle of the afternoon
in Nowhere Town.
For all those who have sat around in the pub  thinking about writing but finding something else to do, namely drinking.  What a happy club we are :)
Olivia Kent Jun 2014
She stood in the dock,
a ruddy gibbering wreck,
very flushed and very frightened,
The stern judge was a vulture,
dreams of chewing her flesh,
Counsel for the prosecution,
was a rather noisy crow,
In her defence,
an eagle stood,
Clutching close her feathered brood.
the courtroom clerk a budgerigar,
with yellow breast,
and mottled feathers,
chatting and typing litotes,
although not really listening.
The defendant for the trial today,
was a bright pink flamingo,
with googly legs and googly eyes,
that poured out such pink tears,
the way the case was going on,
well,
she could be locked away for years,
the jury consisted of mockingbirds,
who laughed at everything they heard,
the evidence was null and void,
not really heard above the noise.

Having heard what he could of the evidence,
the vulture judge got rather cross,
he called upon a dove,
"members of the jury,
we have to acquit  this pretty flamingo,
because I believe that I'm in love".
(c)Livvi
judy smith Feb 2017
In this age of global uncertainty, clothes have become a kind of panacea for a growing number of consumers. Designers are responding to the political upheavals of the past year by injecting some much-needed humour into women’s wardrobes. Browns CEO Holli Rogers is already predicting that spring’s sartorial hit will be Rosie Assoulin’s smiley-face T-shirt. This cheery number, which reads "Thank you! Have a Nice Day!’" neatly sums up the jubilant mood of the coming season.

The logic goes that turning up the dial on the fun, the colourful and the crazy is the sartorial equivalent of Michelle Obama’s "when they go low, we go high" mantra. We may not be able to control the chaos of world events, but we still rule our own style.

It’s no coincidence that a cartoonish aesthetic, of the sort you’d find if you rifled through an eccentric child’s dressing-up box, was in plentiful supply on the spring/summer 2017 runways. Alessandro Michele’s army of Gucci geeks displayed growing swagger in garish get-ups that ran from fuzzy crayon-coloured furs featuring zebras to tiered, tinsel-y coats that rivalled Grandma’s Christmas tree.

It was a similar story at Dolce & Gabbana, where sumptuous eveningwear was loaded with pasta and pizza motifs, and drums became bags, while Marc Jacobs tore a page from a psychedelic colouring book, covering clothes with the childlike scrawl of the London illustrator Julie Verhoeven. Even ardent minimalists would have to admit that these playful looks have potent pick-me-up power.

For Anya Hindmarch – whose empire is built on feel-good fashion – all this frivolity is nothing new. "An ironic, lighter and more irreverent approach has always been my thing. People love beautiful objects and increasingly, they want to show their character – that’s the point of fashion," she says. "Customers today are more confident with their style. There aren’t so many rules. It’s about putting a sticker on a beautiful handbag and not being too precious about it."

What’s surprising is who is consuming this cartoonish style. Though there’s no real rhyme or reason, says Hindmarch, often it’s older clients who are investing in the maddest pieces – like her cuddly, googly-eyed Ghost backpack that has also been spotted on Gigi Hadid and Kendall Jenner.

The same is true of the customer for the Lebanese designer Mira Mikati’s emoji-embellished styles. Though her fans run from twenty to fiftysomethings, at a recent London pop-up one of Mikati’s most ardent buyers was an 87-year-old. "She tells me that whenever she wears my clothes people stop her on the street. They smile. They start conversations. She literally makes friends through what she wears."

Mikati began her career as a buyer, co-founding the upscale Beirut boutique Plum, before launching her own line some four seasons ago – largely out of frustration at the sameness of the mainstream collections. "I wanted to create something fun and colourful but easy to wear – that you can add to jeans and a white T-shirt, but that’s also a conversation point."

Her clothes, worn by Beyoncé and Rihanna, are certainly that: pink parrot-appliquéd trench coats, scribble-print hooded tops and dresses clad with a family of monsters who spell out her Peter Pan ethos in scrawled speech bubbles that read "Never Grow Up’" The antithesis of normcore, these designs take their cue from her children’s toy trunk and the Japanese pop art of Takashi Murakami – who returned the compliment by donning one of her patched bombers.

Mikati is clearly onto something. According to Roberta Benteler, who founded online fashion emporium Avenue 32 in 2011, it’s the cartoon aesthetic that’s really piquing women’s desire right now.

"Anything that looks like a child’s drawing or a toy sells incredibly well," she says. "Brands like Mira Mikati, Vivetta and Les Petits Joueurs inspire the impulse to buy because they’re so eye-catching. You have to have it now because there’s a sense you won’t find it anywhere else."

The exponential rise of street-style stars and the social-media machine that now propels the fashion industry also plays a part in the popularity of these playful looks.

"Designers are creating for the online world and customer," continues Benteler, who cites the Middle Eastern consumer as a big investor in these niche eccentric designs. "People find escapism in fashion and more than ever they need something to cheer them up. These are clothes that stand out on Instagram, and for designers that translates into sales."

In practical terms, in an effort to beat the warp speed of high-street copying, designers are differentiating themselves with increasingly intricate and artisanal styles that are harder to mimic. Just because these pieces have a childlike sensibility doesn’t mean they’re not beautifully crafted.

"My aim is create a handbag that you can keep as a design piece," explains the accessories designer Paula Cademartori. One of her most successful designs – the Petite Faye bag, which comes in a whole rainbow of configurations – takes more than 32 hours to create at her Italian studio. "Even if the styles are colourful and speak loudly, they’re still sophisticated," says Cademartori, whose brand was recently snapped up by the luxury goods group OTB. It can pay to be playful.

One man with a unique insight into the feel-good phenomenon is Marco de Vincenzo, who combines his longstanding role as leather goods head designer at Fendi with creating his own collection. "When we first created the Fendi monster accessories for bags we were simply playing around," he says of the charms that still loom large some three years on. "The most successful designs are created without pressure, through play."

His own-line debut bag features an animalistic paw. ‘It’s about creating something new and different for women to discover,’ he explains. "You buy something because you love it, not because you need it. Fashion is like a game – it has to excite."

When it comes to distilling this childlike abandon into your wardrobe, take cues from super style blogger Leandra Medine, who balances madcap pieces, such as her first collection of colourful footwear under her MR By Man Repeller label, with plainer, simpler ones. "It’s all about wearing your clothes with joy, and having fun, but not looking ridiculous," says Cademartori. "You don’t want to look like an actual cartoon."

It’s advice that chimes with that of Anya Hindmarch. "I love the idea of wearing a super-simple Comme des Garçons jacket and a white shirt with a really fun bag to mess it all up a bit." It’s a failsafe formula for dressing your way to happiness.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
MetaVerse Aug 21
We're fishes in the internet
Caught in the catch of net the day.
The smartest smartphones place a bet
That some night soon you'll meet a gray.
A U.F.O. (or, as they say
In England Land, a yoofo) flies
From where sweet baby scarecrows play
And eye the stars with googly eyes.

While sweating drops of acid sweat,
A cyborg prays away the gay.
A covid sneeze that's extra wet
Is heading thine iambic way.
Tuberculariaceae......
Is the password!  You win the prize!!
Ride on a rocket to Mars, crochet,
And eye the stars with googly eyes.

If you should dance a minuet,
Throw in a twerk for Claude Monet.
I fly around a jumbo jet
While crying, "Climate change!  Obey!!"
Unqualified I fly (hooray!)
A plane that fails hardwarewise.  
Olympic athletes play croquet
And eye the stars with googly eyes.

Enjoy a ride in Santa's sleigh
Before you make your reindeer pies.
Do shake the darling buds of May,
And eye the stars with googly eyes.


Love Jan 2014
If only I could go back in time,
And tell that little 5 year old girl,
To take the other path.
To turn away from that girl,
And walk away.
Be normal.
Force herself to do what every other girl did.
Take the path of an easy and ok life,
Not the hard and happy one.

I'd tell that girl to run,
Run as far as she could,
Into the arms of the little neighbor boy who liked her,
Instead of making googly eyes at the cute blonde girl.

But I cant,
And I didn't.

I took the path of rainbows,
Punches,
*****,
And protest signs.
Zach Abler May 2014
On a Sunday evening right inside Cartwheel Theatre the crowds somehow ignored the curtains as their spectaculars turned into their favorite pair of googly eyes
They set sight and aimed towards a rather refined looking gentleman with a marble pebble tie

Ah! Adonis! Then crowds were astonished!

The audience suddenly collapsed into a bore as their actor had a lead role of having a smile like open doors towards thick fields and bushels of grains and having a long right arm of direction pointing towards the lazy boys and reclining girls

Ah! Adonis! Whatever happened to the curtains?!
"this is a repetitive act!"
"I've heard of this before!"
"why are the old acts better than this week's?"
"predictable!"

Adonis noticing all eyes aimed at his cheek bones sang; "it is not I! I pity you who lost their recognition to the real show paid all your life to take a peek at a rather fragile fellow pale as I am, I beseech you; go beyond this curtains and forever stand in awe!"
Written for 'Or Are We?' with co-founder James David Pedida.
paige May 2013
Your silly antics
etched their way
into my heart
Where instead of
rolling my eyes,
I fall a little more
in love with you
each time
PaperclipPoems Jan 2016
I look at you in the way that I do
Because I know very well that you could be it for me.
Jaanam Jaswani Jul 2013
Girl turns three on a homemade cake
She had candy balloons and plastic grass bits
Toy princesses and marscapone rakes
And mom burnt her finger because she forgot the mitts

Girl turns five on a store bought cake
This time it was shaped like jack and jill
And she wondered if it was a fake
It was the month mom got ill

Girl turns seven on a cupcake
And mom could barely get up let alone bake
Dad taught her baseball that week
She peeped at her parents through the little door creak

Mother.
Other.
Her.

Girl turns nine on a chocolate bun
Mom gave her blessing through the grave
That was the year dad knew no fun
And they kept telling her to be brave

Girl turns eleven on a self made cake
Mom was back but her ******* were fake
Dad was googly eyed, yes
He neglected that his baby was depressed

Girl turns thirteen on a seven layered cake
It was all this posh she couldn't take
This year new mommy and daddy started fighting
And she'd turn up the music and dim the lighting

Girl turns sixteen on a birthday card
This year, dad started drinking
And life felt hard, really hard
Deep down she knew she was sinking
Inspired by TV series Suburgatory.
Simpleton Jun 2014
I woke up early morning
To a tapping on my window
A blue bird sitting on the sill
Asked what I was doing

Oh hey there lil bird
I'm spreading butter with a spoon
But keep it between me and you
There's a few other crazy things I do too

Like taking moon beams that I find on my floor
And putting them all in a jar
I'm saving them for something special
But as of yet I'm not really sure

I hug trees
And chase rainbows
Trace smiley faces in fogged up windows
I even glue googly eyes on my kettle and toaster so I don't feel alone

Tell me lil bird
I've always wondered
Are there creatures with wings
Scared to fly
Afraid of heights

And if there are do they go to social events
Like birds of a feather do
If they walk and don't fly
do they have to wait in a line
At the buffet for their food

Tell me of furry etiquettes and norms
Are you bound by rules
Of the kingdom of birds
Or are blue birds blue bloods

We had quite the conversation going on
My little tapping blue bird and me
That's when I opened the window spread my arms
and we were both gone
Flying away into the free
Another wonderful collaboration with Mike Hauser :)
Jon Tobias Mar 2012
Allan keeps forgetting that his knees are sacred
There is not always solace granted from the bodies he prays to
Neck craned howls for love
Some deity’s fingers running through his hair

Allen is not good looking
And he forgets that no one ever hated a man
Who wanted good things for other people
Forgets that true beauty lies in the hands
And is seen by what they do

Your hands are beautiful
She said,

They can buy someone coffee
When it’s cold
They can make people warm

They do more than his mouth can

They speak languages
Entire languages

In the 7th grade
Christy Turtch slapped him once
For making eyes at another girl
It made his face warm with pain
His eyes wet
Allan bought her flowers
Glued googly eyes to the petals
Gave her a note
See. Only ever had eyes for you.

What Allan doesn’t know yet
Is that to get into heaven
Peter checks knees for scars
Checks hands for beauty
Checks eyes for everything else

Allan’s knees look like the moon
From the ways that he prays
Spotty gravel craters
Dimpled with the fear of
Maybe I won’t feel so lonely this time

His hands can hold someone’s head
His own head
Can make someone fall asleep with them
Can hold them so tight
It keeps them from leaving

Allan keeps forgetting

He pushes against the ground to stand
Brushes himself off
Wipes his eyes
And smiles
He forgets
Sophie Herzing Oct 2014
On a cafeteria table,
in the middle of February,
the kind where it gets dark at 5pm,
sat eight minature figurines made of shells—
brown, speckled, like a calico cat
with googly eyes on the middle of their heads,
one business man with a black derby,
one with a pretty pink bow,
or even one with blue suspenders,
and all their chubby bellies
rounding out over their pants. The woman

with her iridescent nails, bony fingers,
the skin pressed thin against her knuckles,
lines them up in a perfect row, tilting
their heads into one another as if
they are having a tiny conversation
admist the numbers being called—
B14! She stamps in red. B14!
A man pushes a cart around the tables,
like one mows grass around graves,
with fifty cent candy bars and potato chips
on flimsy paper plates. He asks the woman
if she wants ice in her Pepsi, but she just blows
a long sigh of smoke and flicks the sparks
behind her back. He doesn’t ask her to pay.

G56! She touches the head of the figurine
with the mustache. G56! I’ve lost count
of how many numbers I’ve missed,
but then there’s you, your hand on my thigh,
creeping, your fingers pushing
my cotton skirt up, up, and up—
O74!
We play with acrylic chips instead of stampers.
We’d like to win the lottery tickets,
maybe cash them in at the gas station
after we drink a couple iced teas and snack
on Mentos cause we ran out of money
two bottles ago.

The figurine with the fishing pole has one pupil
that lies at the bottom of the eye,
lop-sided, and staring at me while I pretend
that I have G47! or pretend that this isn’t
the first time you’ve brought me here, G47!
instead of a real date. Or pretend
that I can’t hear the woman cough, and cough,
and cough as she switches stampers between every ten calls
or touch this figurine or move that one, just slightly,
this way or that or

N44! She doesn’t have it. N44!
I don’t have it.
Don’t worry, child, you’ll have it all someday,
she whispers, sideways from her mouth,
with your thumb making circles around my hipbones,
and the man pushing the cart, the squeak of the wheels
B7! But I don’t have it. B7! I don’t have it.
I don’t have it.
Claire E Jul 2013
I see the way they look at you
All googly eyed and giggly
Their want is so obvious
Like school girls clawing for your attention

Then I see the way they look at me
With such bitterness in their eyes
I hear the whispers
The catty words that roll off their tongues sting
I try not to take it personal, I've seen it done to the girls that came before me

It never made sense to me, they don't even know you
They know you for the way you look and the way you walk
For the way you dress and the way you talk
I'm scared if they really knew you they'd fall in love with you for real
Actually, I know they would, I did

I hate the way they look at you
I hate the way they talk about you
I hate the way they want you
But most of all I hate the way they make me feel

My insecurity reels it's ugly head
The thought that you can have any of them always lingers
I'm scared that you'll slip threw my fingers
And into theirs
I'm  not sure what's worse
Their jealousy or mine?
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Light keeps the darkness at bay
Darkness keeps the atoms in sway
Memories faked as much as faith
Raw neurons on a birthday cake
Wet leaves stuck to white car hoods
Look just like bullet-holes would
Sketch me, photos make broken shelves
Till leaping lamb of hope kills itself
Come together and taste some death
You'll be like Seth or burn like ****
Googly-eyed with brains all fried
Notes the secret satellite
Reality shifts under your feet
As your door breaks down, here comes the heat
Pink fish visions and scaly birds
Robots prophesize unsaid words
Indians paid with camera lenses
While the moon loses all her ******
Americans watching cartoon life
As their hands turn clay and rust is rife
Yeah, we all got our own dead twin
Tastes like cinnamon vitamins
You ******* dumb deadly lifeless fools
Reject anything until it's cool
Light keeps the atoms in sway
Darkness keeps the shadows at bay
refresh mesh May 2015
Sparks, imperial journey to the great gold
     it's day for shining
     dark for crying
     and pining
     deciding
     where to go? in this great blue world
I see lines
     better to remove the dust and
     grab whatever's floating

How would we stay alive for ourselves?
          Tell me what a real person is.
          Ask me what a real human is.
Green, I feel green
     in the face and the toes
     because green grows
     what the heart knows
Safety is gone
     but i feel alright. Just because it might go away doesn't mean I have to hold on harder, or bite down stronger.

Everything slips, because
     everything slips.
     Hang me on a string
     and rid the town of my modern making
They wanted a puppet
     but they gave me the wrong color
     the mismatched wood
     uneven cards and googly eyes
     that see too much.

Maybe the sun could bleach me
     back to a perfect dolly
     on the windowpane
     for your pleasure and my disdain
We could avoid the mess
     of dancing under Vega
     Aquarius is finally here
     and it only talks this way
     in the summertime
But I've learned to listen:
     love sets in after time, and distance is quickest.

I sent a letter admitting that it's partially my fault
     for losing myself in the hanging orb
     but internally I knew that distance is quickest
I sense a change above our hearts
     and it wants
     an audience
Maybe the stars know what to do?
     Down here it's not true
     to say we have any clue

If there only was a way to learn that Sparks in the sky
     are opportunities to try
          and lie less
          to be great and honest
     Learn that distance is quickest

Green: the spaceship of our baby dreams
     and quilt seams
     begging us to replant
     and re-*** and re-hash
     for a brighter future
     a lighter day
Wringing on my knees in the end
     to believe that distance is quickest
     and harmony's not already dead

Finally.
I know that Sparks exist
for me to recharge and rebuild.
They're green and they live in the sky
that we filled
they live in my art and the world's heart
so if safety existed: Sparks would not.
and the distance would look like time.

So tell me why I should be human
when I run so much better as a
shiny
porcelain
battery
backup
mind
green sparks and my dark marks
Andrew Parker Dec 2013
What I Wanna Do
April 30, 2013

I wanna rock back and forth on a swing set in the summery sun.
Get rid of my backpack, **** thing nearly weighs a ton.

I wanna lay in the grass at the park and get bit by bugs.
Stare with googly eyes at runners wearing tights and give strangers hugs.

I wanna run and chase the ice cream truck only to discover I don't have moolah.
Talk with friends late at night in my backyard as we tell stories and smoke hookah.

I wanna complain it's too hot outside and that my pool is too cold.
Stop sleeping early and stay up late, pretending I'm not getting old.

What I wanna do is with all of you.
My friends and family in Las Vegas.
dan hinton Nov 2011
I sit on my own in a restaurant
And at the table next to me
A guy’s grabbing a hunny’s ****
And giving it all the googly eyes;
He smiles.
It’s a first date.
He’s done her already
And she is a stunner
Eastern European
A body built like an athlete
A body you’d **** yourself for
Just for a sip of that amber nectar
The body of a woman that puts fire in the *****
And gives way to sleepless nights.
He was grinning
And I was lost in my Vichyssoise
But as the evening wears on
The passion disintegrates
Into mindless rote
They were onto eating sandwiches
And I was onto the lobster
I know that you shouldn’t bring a sandwich
To a buffet.
The guy with the Bulgarian hunny learnt that too:
As soon as the guy looks up and begins to give his order to the waitress
The Bulgarian hunny interrupts him
“I would to order...”
“Bradley, don’t you look at another woman –
He’ll be having the salad and the tuna steak.
You know you’re not having a **** steak
I don’t want you dying of a heart attack before you’re forty.
And I’m certainly not going to be left to feed 6 kids!”
There was an awkward silence
Every time Bradley tried to get a word in the
Hot Bulgarian fluttered her big brown eyes
And shrugged  her shoulder.
“Boy, save the charm for the ******* your arm.”
God, if I were him
I would sleep with one eye open.
And I know if they had a bunny
It would be on the stove by now.
The conversation gently continued,
Poor Bradley couldn’t look at another woman
Throughout the evening
It was decided:
3 boys and 3 girls
And not one would be thought to be called
Bradley Jr.
They had to graduate
They had to work five years
And have full dental plans
All this was going on before
The salads.
I have to laugh
Hahahahahaha
When one is faced with a beauty like that
That’s a maniac
I have to think:
You can’t taste the milk
And then not put a down payment on the cow.
Courtesy of AskJeeves, and a special acknowledgement
to the Google search algorithm, this anachronistic Travelocity gent
lee blog, a factual fictitious vignette takes add Vonage of Samsung viz Clark Kent
incredible computer software programs and sturdy Mainframe he kin lent.

Bass sic Lee (this savvy poetic end-user) opted incorporating what he doth **** sitter
tubby both thee hottest n coolest common bots unseen that ping and skitter
n thrive within binary bitmap digital boot not embittered nor iz he a quitter
as unseen electronic/ microscopic realm, whar can tweet and twitter.

Since a countless number of applications constitute the hum maze zing
information superhighway (thank you Al Gore), this computer addict plucked on a wing
n broken kin prayer juiced a random sample per significant thing
hearty soulful itty bitty byte size flickr patented technological silent ring
tone signaling data communications packets fueling hand held devices did ping.

So many automatic, cryptic, esoteric…et cetera fiber optic pulsating stupefying vectors cross, twas impossible but to winnow down the selection process, in virtual sector
which smattering of Apps countless twenty first century human projector
where computer applications anachronistically don the following epistle like nectar
I Trump pet smart word smith re: scrivener effecter.

Shiloh Golong and describe, which Apple of my eye (amidst all the Core **** sans millions of equally omitted, yet equally appealing, enlivening, incorporating Wans
et cetera populate virtual reality) resonated within Chrome moe so mull Bing vans.

Skype in n Angry Bird n If ya need to take Avast break please Compaq to this Century21, Foursquare kilometers from Instagram Pennsylvania, who (despite kiss
sing eternal Allianz with the fountain of youth) witnessed The Birth of Cosmos - hiss
story give or take a million years, and can remember when Geico caveman dis
cover Victoria’s Secret how to make fire,
   which kept warm re: covergirl company in this now over lit Circuit City amiss.

This Earthlinked, Googly eyed (brown), Hotmail wannabe doth dwell in Dell a where valley thinking About such notions as: Airgas, Comcast, Excelon…. Veer
eye sin plus responding to interpersonal classified advertisements x spear
ment tang feigning tube be a bachelor.
   Hoop ping to dance with female stars purportedly accidently twerking ma rear.

Oh…Methinks a desperate gal from Ashley Madison, AdultFriendfinder, Badoo,
or purdy than from any other website fancies friend ship with this nebbish, goo goo
doll doting generic goofball perchance seeking somebody aesthetically attractive ta moo

Va the bowels of mein kempf imagination, thus envision, a slight shift in action Lifelock drama as fealty to fair *** necessitates discerning whom rapping or mebbe a mock
MineCraft softly (echoes SoundClound) infuse this creaky body limp as a wet sock
with a sudden jolt to beat a path to the door fast as greased lightening shard o rock.

Hmm…the sudden ruse to quick forge an invisible IdentityGuard  axe like a KickStarter, a throwback to those glorious atavistic arboreal days when fate did ensure tartar
sauce appeasing Plentyoffish edenic, idyllic, and lipstick Joyus ness n warder.

To quench thirst, now dear Rabbit Reader (unwelcome Reddit news hints
struggling to hastily springme to action upon my super attenuated like gooey mints
noggin Natwest ted yet will be let down upon discerning what issues **** as quince- rat…tat…tat…ring…ring…ring.” oh my dog – psyche does wince.

Campbell soup and please pardon moi while pullup these gangly limb
and attend to an unexpected interloper. All ike kin manage to mutter Kim
Kardashian - nothing amuse zing- comprises “oh sh…sh…Jim
me John, Shutterfly, Keeblers, Aldies, and quickly experiencing him
a lay ahs aka, the sensation of falling into an abysmally cold welled bank

Argh! Dave and Buster (two super tramping security details impossible to contact
on this Blizzard besotted day. While thoughts whir like Buzzfeed. Donald redact ******* blitz, he anoints himself styled ace of spades. Figurative cards stacked
when Sarah Palin, pledged gubernatorial endorsement Survey Monkey tracked
opposition, outliers immediately banished when the angel of Merck whacked

me upside the BirchBox size head n OkCupid (the one perched and Twitter on me right shoulder prods me to tell the truth, This har Motley Fool (holed up in his actually quite confesses to be a mailer daemon whose Pinterest constitutes prevaricating a kooky plight
while athwart his abode, which Orbitz a Chrome colored sun light

Whence, he (sometimes called Mac) keeper of this Oculus Rift;
SnapChatting with renown architects About MapQuest ting plans Lyft
ed for a SolarCity alone in the Whirled Wide Webbed wilderness a grift

Tor from Lake Woebegone, where all the women strive tubby on Youtube,
the children  Facebook endlessly amidst the global tract of teenage wasteland, ****
Rick hating, and every GoDaddy inquires WhatsApp while puzzling Rubik’s cube.
tRon Jun 2013
Two times, two times befour I let ya go

No hard feelings, but I'm hardly feelin'

Way up, so high, down low, so low...solo

Googly eyes lit mine, now I'm keelin'


Lost love loves lots, there is no game to blame

Our self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel

Beware new love disguised, I won't name njames

History, but a circle, thread on spool


Rekindle?  Like wet wood drunk with moisture

fires die, like fireflies in winter

but scorched am I, by eternal ember

no lotion, nay cortizone heals center


Can't salute to your attention, so go

Worth the good times, but not the pain, yunno?
dan hinton Nov 2011
I sit on my own in a restaurant
And at the table next to me
A guy’s grabbing a hunny’s ****
And giving it all the googly eyes;
He smiles.
It’s a first date.
He’s done her already
And she is a stunner
Eastern European
A body built like an athlete
A body you’d **** yourself for
Just for a sip of that amber nectar
The body of a woman that puts fire in the *****
And gives way to sleepless nights.
He was grinning
And I was lost in my Vichyssoise
But as the evening wears on
The passion disintegrates
Into mindless rote
They were onto eating sandwiches
And I was onto the lobster
I know that you shouldn’t bring a sandwich
To a buffet.
The guy with the Bulgarian hunny learnt that too:
As soon as the guy looks up and begins to give his order to the waitress
The Bulgarian hunny interrupts him
“I would to order...”
“Bradley, don’t you look at another woman –
He’ll be having the salad and the tuna steak.
You know you’re not having a **** steak
I don’t want you dying of a heart attack before you’re forty.
And I’m certainly not going to be left to feed 6 kids!”
There was an awkward silence
Every time Bradley tried to get a word in the
Hot Bulgarian fluttered her big brown eyes
And shrugged  her shoulder.
“Boy, save the charm for the ******* your arm.”
God, if I were him
I would sleep with one eye open.
And I know if they had a bunny
It would be on the stove by now.
The conversation gently continued,
Poor Bradley couldn’t look at another woman
Throughout the evening
It was decided:
3 boys and 3 girls
And not one would be thought to be called
Bradley Jr.
They had to graduate
They had to work five years
And have full dental plans
All this was going on before
The salads.
I have to laugh
Hahahahahaha
When one is faced with a beauty like that
That’s a maniac
I have to think:
You can’t taste the milk
And then not put a down payment on the cow.
Kate Lion Jan 2015
i am a windsock
that you found atop an abandoned heart valve, trying to catch its breath
an open-mouthed fish with air passing through the gills
drowning in solitude

you took me down
washed me up,
and i felt useful again

you never asked me to love you
never stapled me to the wall or made me into your sock puppet with googly eyes
but i would find myself nestled beside you, anyway
in the moments i wanted to feel a little more human

you listened, mostly
you would hold me up and watch me fill with air and when things got too emotional i would wriggle free and tumble off the mountain peak in a scatter-brained attempt to prove i didn't need you
you never raised your voice or shouted after me, and i never raised my hand to say, "i need you, too"

3 years went by

you never begged me to love you
but you whispered that feelings had sprouted from your heart so long ago on the mountain
and i could see the lettuce leaves protruding from your chest
and i became afraid
i had never kept something like this alive

(a list of things that i'd let die:
a cactus
friendships
hermit *****
fish
and tiny flowers)

so i let the wind take me again
i dont know why
i crawled back to the crusty heart valve
and tried to let my soul dry out
(a raisin in the sun)

but after a month of drowning in my own solitude
i heard that a frost was coming

i thought of the tiny leaves protruding from the ridges of your chest

(could i let something so innocent die again?)

and on September 27th, while you slept
i, the wind sock, slipped into the sheets
i covered our tender love with all i had

and we weathered the frost together.
alexis hill Oct 2015
I was sitting on the ledge
that borders the outside of drumlin hall
and what if I just leaned back
what if I just leaned far enough
to
f a l l

would someone catch me
and I always think about this stuff

like today when I was driving to class
I thought why not just swerve the wheel left and gun it into the iced over lake
instead I kept 55
still alive in the right lane
still have a chest heavy full of pain

because I have a time frame
and stupid obligations like class and a degree
and the pursuit of making a life for me

head towards taconic hall
with grateful deads "ripple"
blasting through my headphones
droning out the noise and bustle
of all these people

in psych203
my ink pen runs out during the exam
so I shake it hoping it will write more
about the paradigm shift
and collaborative efforts.

I rack my brain for answers but
all I can think about is getting a different writing instrument

so my essay is half black and half white impression on the page
the product:
an interracial answer

head to Hudson hall for coffee
might save the life of me,
but instead I see that group of guys
who spew cat calls and looks of googly eyes sizing me up and down

veer left instead of right
to avoid shameful clowns

outside my breath makes
mist
outside my skin makes
for an unworthy protection against
the cold

so I hold ground
what would be up without coming down

say bottoms up
say stay ****** up
say upside down
say what comes around goes around

because as I tread on, some other girl
in knee high suede
is swamped by those kids.
Jonny Angel Dec 2013
And I became inspired about a summer love,
surely she is somewhere now watched by all the angels above, her kindred spirits.

So long ago, we sailed the cat to St. John's isle,
where we'd sit and chat for hours on end,
sending good vibes to each other, enraptured,
smothered in our own astral plane.

We were totally exuberant, not criminally-isane,
in fact a bit silly, those googly-eyes we made,
along with the Myers & pineapple,
tickling each other's fancies.

We'd dance to Marley and Tosh,
do the limbo in our tie-dyed brilliance,
under the sun in that tropical paradise,
I think about of you so often.
Inspired by "treading in civil gardens" a  poem by Mark John Junor
(Now words written some months back more urgent then ever)!

Trumpet call to action,
sans barreling totalitarian
tilt per prez zee dent shill faction
already wrecking ball -
even without Miley Cyrus - got traction.

Das boot Trump out-
(oust him to) Mexico or Waterloo
lip smacking gangs eagerly await
bully in White House and true
as Reince prescience fore tells poe
whit yawl get lucky strike
if keep Taj Mahal shaped shoo
fur deux hundred daze
starring scary motley crue.

╰☆╮I'm royal heir to peace mongering hoarders,╰☆╮
which comb hen might handy when borders
hermetically sealed, per heil hit lore
caw zing a furor with his stark orders.

Gestapo Re Don Dint (doomsday)
I dont wanna don a quack dynasty outfit,
or that of wood chucker
but...holy *******
kudos to heckler, who deems
steam roller Trump as one mean trucker.

Thus - for umpteenth attempt to post
with noah intention
to induce rabid reaction to roast
my *** (albeit scrawny just to be cheeky),
I duck rye America will burn like toast

if.... mister money bags reaches
full term finish line of presidential electorate,
he doth stick out pudgy leatherneck
with reassurance,
sans hiz safely guarded golf coast.

My anti Donald trump screed
WE MUST DO MORE THAN YODEL LOUD: all agreed
out....out...get...lest cruel nightmare har reed
thru legislation - ding ****
the witch's dead donald drake...freed

bigotry, derogatory hate, hence
out...of...here...without...his...coat...indeed
of...armor, nor golden golfing irons greed
dilly bought with monies usurped
unpaid/underpaid migrants MUST NOT heed
no passivity, who rightfully
feel indignant and teed.

I dune hot condone political measures
paws sauté fracas mane lion kapo - louse
jabbering indiscretion via his blouse
zee and breezy haughty snub nosed
air audacity, haughty, and superiority
on par with Doctor Zeuse
herewith continues poem,

I dashed off ala hill a re: huff - to douse
Auld don self serving trumpeting and gel lee
joie de vivre dystopian *******
inducing nostalgia fin d siecle
Barack Obama utopia of yesterday
now 45th lacking prez cred,

he doth thrive to squeeze gnarly paws,
around world asper hobnobbing
with bigwigs snatching grab-bag to carouse
invariably sparking angry birds viz
puffin that retweet his sewerage bilge -

strike horror tummy senses -
for antithetical opinions heed espouse
based on scary political fracas
and ominous nightmare whar mo' will grouse
to obstruct Trump accessing black keys to arouse

looming presidential nightmare
became real - gruff louse
he crushes sacred freedoms,
whence civilization goes off bluff
analogous to a rabid Tom cat
terminating the life of poor ole Mickey Mouse.

DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch

black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet,
a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans ****
pay shuss selfish lust, when world
slides down behavioral sink into Old Rotten Gotham,
where he twill jape
at distant outlier from madding crowd a gape.

At sheer inanity trumpeting strumpets donning innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod --
seize ***** viz Cesar

his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards
to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country.

Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het

two...three...four, while the billionaire
turns a third blind eye speeds away
in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy DeVos,
how did fickle finger of fate let

this pompous ***
vacuum majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi,
and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face doughy as smart putty pet

bump ping uglies henchmen bedlam set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup
bawling ashen faced deportees,

whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee
branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone

fingers to the bone vainly,
their American dream parched whence whet
long story short - pondering
rental circumstance will equal net

zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic,
narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three -

via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within American crucible melting *** -
with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves,
superman or Sabrina can oust him yet.
due to a congenital psychological affliction
hobgoblins joined human league averse tomb eye plaintive benediction
thence, this with mine jetblue skinny legs like a chicken
his (mein kempf) got dealt mortal (who gives a hoot) blow fish
   rem mains disintegrated by mailer daemons usurped dereliction
whereby sanity given eviction
in the subsequent fiction
that makes feeble attempt to evoke stricken gumption
where nihilistic thoughts rode rough shod to wreak humiliation
upon prepubescent initiation
whereby the antithesis of jubilation
kept the author (yes, yours truly)
   like a trapped mouse in a cat protected kitchen
where no cheeses cur heist could rectify or bring libation.
-------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------          
   noah hide da what mailer daemon possessed this earthlinked live nada so hotmail to splutter so much persiflage.

   ye might well categorize the palaver as pure llama heaped dung attempting to sneak into yar consciousness as some esoteric badinage aspiring to convey that this doodler with words adroit with the english language.

bah hum bug
down the gullet went lethal drug
e'en without any farewell hug
after smacking lips polished off deadly drink from mug.

   Long fostered freedom last attained to exit silently this terrestrial real estate oblate spheroid during hulu heralded century21, which brought eternal senescent deliverance.

   life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and goodwill toward men/women served as a mere pretense extant the global arcade.

   nothing boot  charade, enfilade (albeit with limp poetic/prosaic pugnacious), facade, gilded hilariously inside *******.

  ever since he did start kick king lifelessly, his noggin oddly plunges quietly resting as a deceased shutter ring fly tonight under vaporous wisps.

   a somber mood prevailed amidst the cloistered silence imposed from - The burial of Matthew Harris
i.e. this faceless book earth worm member
joined the rank n file of his slimy brethren n cistern
   when a mortal male ceased to live one december

   The undertaker drew a deep breath.

   He exhaled little billows of cold air while awaiting the hearst carrying my lifeless body.

   Prior to death, I took special pains to select an ideal piloted kamikaze pilot plot.

   A mossy glen with a mill by the pond of my boyhood swimming hole served like the ideal welcome mat for the return of this native son long gone from his family estate of Glen Elm.

   Death struck unexpectedly while dodging the madding crowd jostling to get a glimpse of this renown author where fame seemed destined to track me down.

   As the advocate of countless essays on inalienable rights for all creatures large and small, no pause from the hounding local populace offered peace of mind.

   Until now!

   The prospect of dying never scared this non-believer.

   Cessation of consciousness essentially served completion of life in corporeal form and reconstituted physical being into grist for other organisms to flourish.

   Karma and the glorious unique characteristic that comprised each of our respective charisma, dogma, and persona (generally comprising an enigma to the world) absorbed after contract with cosmic creator lapsed.

    Brief occupancy on this terra firmae as inscribed in genetic code (merely a blink of an eye in the universal schema) gave this now deceased dreamer notion to maximize enjoyment of each day.

   One need not globe trot (and boast of espying exotic places), but could experience inner harmony by imbibing the present.

   Simple pleasures that abounded in the wild or evoked via the creative imagination of august writers supplied ample sustenance for satisfaction.

   Contemplative and introspective mien prompted Eros to be discerned in the grand canyon of Mother Nature in tandem with personal motive to indulge like-minded thinkers since the beginning of time.

   Any given day frequently found thoughts turning over every figurative jagged rolling stone when the grim reaper might spring a surprise visit, which metaphysical thought interestingly enough gave sigh of relief.

   Why?

   Upon termination of enjoying existence in living color, the eradication of this pet peeve of mine i.e. anxiety/ panic attacks interwoven with inxs of obsessive compulsive behavior would dissolve into the basic elements bread earth, wind and fire.

   No iota amount of matter marshaled of the non-entity dimension would assume command.

   Those former psychological trials would thence be relinquished from their parasite role and recompose cells of one mortal man (me) into matter to be recycled into raw materiel for other organisms to feast upon.

   Basic constituent cells of this **** sapiens would become necessary seeds for some other manifestation for plant or animal development.

   Go daddy maggots sans a fancy feast, a best buy per this former foo fighting beastie boy, whose nihilistic outlook promulgated within his in utero psyche.

   Gestation as an embryonic fetus, the potential live, googly eyed, earth-linked, wannabe hotmail prodigy harbored no oshkosh bug gosh pinterest to remain in the world wide web of bad company,

     Hence. nothing could mollify ne measly mumble bling linkedin (albeit progressive matchless who unwittingly opened the redbox of Pandora.

   Molecular features would assume novel combinations thru said degradation of flesh, yet improvisation of biology would wield wasted corpse that once epitomized an articulate, civil, enumerate, glib, invertebrate, kind male into novel marvels of unpredictable genus and species.
Heidi Mason Jan 2015
honestly
the thought of a boy
being all googly eyes over me
sounds great
but
the thought of a boy
crushing my heart
when he is done with me
isn't so great

the thought of a boy
being by my side every time
I need his voice the most
sounds like a blessing
to my young soul

but
the thought of that same boy
calling me names
when we are out of love
hurts me more than
the break up
of our
love.
Aleiana Zelin Feb 2018
My father once told me
he wouldn’t hold it against me if
I were to fall in love
with a woman

And I asked him how he’s so sure
it’s going to happen to me
He looked me straight in the eye,
stopped peeling my apples
and pointed at me with his knife,
“Duks, it’s because you’re me.”

And that terrified me to no end.
Not even because he looked
ready to stab me
but because I didn’t want
to be like my father

Yet here I am
seven years later
following every little footprint
he left for me in the sand
because he may be a lying,
cheating, fickle-minded swine
— but he is a good man
and he is half of me

And this half of me
left me a breadcrumb trail
leading to the part of myself
I will offer to you

He once told me
to never let someone you love
walk out the door angry
and I met this girl
(because there’s always a girl)
who walks in the room
and plants sunflowers in fields
of goosebump-riddled skin and waters them
with the tears of boys who think
their shark-grins and googly eyes
would make up for their
inability to hide their ****** during her shows
and they still have the audacity to think
their half-assed existence
would be good enough for her

This girl —

She picks the best and brightest
sunflowers and hands them to me
wrapped in a peach-colored smile
on the days the sun doesn’t shine for me
and even after the longest days,
I’d tiptoe through her field
until she hugs me goodbye and sends me off
with petals tangled in my hair
and pollen clinging to my fingertips

She turns me into a haven
for bees and hummingbirds alike.

My father once told me
I was named after a revolutionary
and that if I were to love another,
I would have to raise my banners high
and shout over the cries of the crowd
I would have to prove
I am worthy
of my namesake — I am the fulfillment
of the prophecy left shattered
by a hail of bullets

Dad, I’ll tell you now,
I won’t be starting any wars
for this girl — I won’t be
risking my life to save hers

She’ll be at the battlefront
already going head-to-head
with the pigs in blue while she’s red in the face
and she won’t have a problem
if you shove her against the barricades
and blast her with the water cannons
but no god will save you
if you so much as touch her eyebrows

Dad, if you’re looking for revolutionary,
I’ve found it
in the way she says my name
when we’re standing on the cusp of change
and just about ready
to claim justice
from those who so gleefully
took it from us

My father once told me
that I should appreciate classical music more
when we watched an orchestra play in the mall
and the musicians that poured their hearts
into their craft

At the time, I didn’t see the appeal
of music without words
And I wish you could see me now, dad,
because I finally appreciate
the little things that I never noticed before —
like how Botticelli’s Birth of Venus
is just a painting
until you tell her you never knew
she was Botticelli’s muse
(because who the **** looks like that
without being mistaken for a goddess
meant to be immortalized through art and poetry?)
like how poetry is only poetry
if you take the mundane
and turn it into something grandiose —
a pretentious way of saying
you have to be pretentious —
but honey, you already do this
well enough on your own
(so are you really the Muse
or the Poet?)
like how love isn’t always trembling —
sometimes it’s just staying still.
Root me into place
and tell me there can be nobody else
and I’ll tell you, dearest,
there hasn’t been anyone else
since I found out you want to be a teacher
since I held your hand in prayer
and simultaneously turned into a devout Catholic
since I told you promises are meant to be broken,
but not mine —
never mine.

Dad, it takes the right person
to show me what’s there to love
in the most minute of things.

My father once told me
to love with everything I am
till I have nothing left
“To hell with it!” he’d say.

Until now, I still take the last
slice of graham cake on Christmas Eve
even when I’ve taken more than I can stomach
I still give away
the stuffed animals that are broken and tattered
because I don’t want to be left with
things I no longer find the beauty in
I still find myself in relationships
where I have one foot out the door
because I know the exact route
to the fire exit and I’d only planned
to stay until intermission

But then, there’s you —
you take from me
only what you know I can give.
Without even noticing, I’ve given you
more than what I thought I had in me.

If I could, I’d tie a string
around the sun and carry it around
with me like a balloon
so when I come home,
your sunflowers would grow and by then
I’d have picked the ones that bloomed
on my way back to you

If I could take you to the moon,
I’d build a rocketship that uses my words
for fuel so, honey, you’ll never have to worry
about making it back home
I can take you to the Milky Way
amusement park and make
a merry-go-round of the planets
and I’d still have enough words for you
to keep as souvenirs when you land back home

Honey, I’ll never run out
of things to give you
and I take my time savoring what I have
because I know it’ll take me three times
asking you if you want the last piece
for you to try and take it from me
without me noticing
(You always fail.)

Dad, I am the end of your trail.
Let me tell you now
that you have led me to my death —
indeed, I am doomed!

Here lies the body
that was once your selfish daughter!

Now, father, watch her lay
sunflowers on my grave:

Dearest —
here rises the body
of who’ll love you
with all the tremble it took to get to you
with all the honey still sticky
and seeping into the pages
with all the faith one could afford
to give with arms outflung

Dearest —
here is when I tell you
there are no accidents.
You were meant to find me
in this exact spot.
Now, come take me home
and root me into place.


//A.Z.//
For the girl who got me to stay still when all I wanted to do was go.
Lauren R Jun 2017
I'm starting to wonder if I fall for every pair of eyes that go googly when locked with mine
I wonder how much I'm searching for a way out of not knowing and into heaven
which really, sounds a lot like certainty
I don't know how much my heart can bend under the weight of all the lives I hold in my delicate and numb fingertips before it breaks
I just want to be safe
I just want to be loved
I don't wanna be a trophy wife
I don't wanna be anything but happy

— The End —