"googly" poems
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"?
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
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?
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
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
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
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.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
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!"
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
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
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
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
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
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.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
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
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
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
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
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
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
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
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:43 PM UTC
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
:)
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 9:07 AM UTC
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-pot 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
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
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 girl on 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.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 10:09 PM UTC
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.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
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?
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
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 girl on 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.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
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.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
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.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
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.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
There was summer in the air
birds knew
and were singing about it
I stood waiting
by the Andrew's cottage
until I could see Jane
coming around the bend
of the lane
I'd helped saw logs
for my father
and had been
to the farm to help
sort the cows
now it was my time
my time to ease
to enjoy the company
of the girl
who filled me
with buzz and hold
my breath kind of feel
there was the smell
of cattle on the air
dung
hot air
sticky around the nose
and then
as I looked up
she was there
coming around
the bend in the lane
dark haired
dressed
in a summery dress
old shoes
a tractor buzzed
from a nearby field
butterflies fluttered past
Red Admiral maybe
I was excited
but in a held in way
didn't want to
frighten her off
with big googly eyes
and tongue
in the corner
of my mouth
kind of look
and anyway
she came to me
and she smiled
and said
summer's here
I can sense it
feel it
seen butterflies
who've told me
and she laughed
and I liked that
that smile
that brightness
in her eyes
and I laughed too
and where shall we go?
she asked
how about down
by the stream
in the little lane?
ok
she said
and took my hand in hers
warm
soft
fingers around mine
life pulsing there
seen a Yellow Hammer
she said
on my way here
Yellow Hammer?
I asked
is it a butterfly?
no it's a bird
she said
don't see them
that often
I'll look
in my book of birds
I said
yes should be
in there
I liked her closeness
her being there
beside me
feelings inside
rushing over me
like a wild sea.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
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
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC