"guidebook" poems
Boys play football in my heart
Their ball falls in a canal in
Venezia.
It's lost in
Venezia because I closed my eyes,
Guidebook in hand--
Phrasebook at my side--
Dictionary omnipresent somehow--
Mother calls them inside, it's time to learn again.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
We aren't given a guidebook of the
life in store for us.
The best we can hope for
is a life with
maximum joy
and
minimum suffering.
I struggle with the thoughts....
Have you ever imagined being
fatherless
partnerless
rudderless....?
Small graces that I never did.
So I only had to experience each
once.
Despair that now I am.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
While the wine and cheese and skinny upturned mustaches
Were all there,
Wrapped in gold tissue paper and tied with white bows
The passion, desire, and spark
(which were promised by the $24.99 guidebook)
Were nowhere to be found,
Not even floating down a gondola on the Seine
(or am I thinking of Venice now?)
I wrote home in two postcards
(not because I had so much to say)
But because I thought my family should see the Eiffel Tower in both day and night
As plastered on the pair of plastic, flimsy cards I mailed away.
Being away from Mom and Dad, I thought I’d enjoy it
But after investing in a French-English Dictionary
I learned that the love letters I’d been receiving here
(voulez vous coucher avec moi?)
Weren’t so lovely after all.
I told them that I’d tried French Onion soup,
That I’d walked down that street featured in Midnight in Paris,
and that between the guns slung over shoulders
(worn like fake Louis Vuittons advertised by desperate venders)
and the solicitors outside the Moulin Rouge
the city of love
had shattered my unprotected heart.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC
An anxious person's life comes with a set of rules, a guidebook on how to survive that is etched between the neurons of said person's brain.
Each day fits neatly into a schedule, clocked in by the second and placed firmly into a time slot that is fixed and immovable.
Each thought is churned and questioned before finally being spit out.
Each sentence is perfectly manufactured as it has been sent down an assembly line and thoroughly checked before being spoken.
Each situation is analyzed and placed into a pros and cons power struggle before being decided upon.
An anxious person in love is a difficult thing.
Love can't be placed into a box, can't be precise and planned and prepared for.
Love can't be controlled or put into an agenda, can't be narrowed down into a certain time frame or date range.
Love is bigger than any person can hold in their hand. Love can get away, slip through the cracks and get scattered and messy.
An anxious person does not like messy. It makes them anxious.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
Nobody ever wrote a guidebook for me to read
I'm the blue in the red world
They hate what they don't understand
They criticize what they don't understand
Give me a cue, doctor blue
The reds seem like a supressing fed
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
The fuselage must gleam
in a pink Pacific sunset
at 29000 feet
inside, I am brought puffed cellophane pouches of tamarind by attendant ladies and men
and a sanitary case wraps my pillow.
Bangkok’s taxis are driven by a man with bones for a neck on cracked
roads that vanish into blind ways.
Later a child – spying left – pulls me through a curtained door into an ante-room to
sell me cling-wrapped copies of Japanese slasher movies. “Cheap!”
Flies circle a mound of meat spiked to a vending cart -- “special for you.”
A sea of mopeds rumble up the road and chase me between parked cars
Tattered hunks of plastic bag blow past off the beach.
At night gut rot infects the air, and I walk in brown puddled streets.
The tar sky smothers above the neon and the barkers and the *** for $10. This last part was in the guidebook.
A woman sits, cloaked in a shawl, selling women’s apparel, all arranged on pale and chalky mannequins, angled at attention.
They wear the rouge of the truth-telling jester.
Their mouths are gaping, smiling, lurid, laughing, howling. Eyes wide, piercing and empty, excited.
They look like me. And I look away.
The woman’s throat moves. Or does she chuckle?
“For you.”
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 11:14 PM UTC
I want a right path
I want a new path
I need a great book
I need a guidebook
I'd know the Almighty God.
I should find a king
who is the King of kings
I'd follow a messenger
who's the Leader of messengers
Then I won't be sad.
I'd make a perfect life
I'd make a bright life
I need a skylight
I need a den of light
I'd know the Merciful Lord.
I would go to Heaven
I'd better go to Heaven
I need to find my Creator
I'd know my best lover
Then I'd believe in only One God.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
5 dollar bill curled like a tunnel
a ****** kicks a toonie kicks a dime
the tunnel is built into the mountain
of my Lonely Planet guidebook to
Barcelona.
the laptop cord slithers above like
a stiffly frozen waterfall. The world
is an okay place.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
The first time you flew
you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much
thinner up here,
that below they have to breathe
the crushing weight of the
stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed
to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make
any noise yet
every day you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife
and a guidebook of expectation.
You don’t remember filling out an
application for this life, for
now-flightless wings and for being
their daughter,
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
and the first time you flew
you heard birds laugh at you
and the air was so thin
you fell right through,
and the silence so thick
you landed hard,
lungs aching,
but you were never afraid of the dark,
*in the high water
watch out for sharks*
because you aren’t one for stark
contrasts and it’s nice to feel
like nothing at all,
keep falling.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem you drank tea
out of a paper cup, no mug
in the sink, no need for anyone
to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key
in your new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel
at home anymore,
and the first time you were afraid of the dark
you weren’t,
because it can’t get you
if it can’t see you’ve left any mark.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem the *** boiled
even though you watched,
and you drank tea out of a paper cup
and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that
song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you
meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
The first time you flew you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much thinner up here, that below
they have to breathe the crushing weight of the stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make any sound yet every day
you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife and a guidebook
of expectations. You don’t remember filling an application
for this, for now-flightless wings or for being this daughter
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
but the first time you landed you didn’t write a thing,
you just drank tea out of a paper cup, no mug in the sink,
no need for anyone to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key in this new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel at home anymore.
The *** boiled even though you watched, and you drank
out of a paper cup and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
Please stop looking at the world with a black and white filter,
Painting it like a biased picture.
Your mind wants to think simple; it does not want to think deep.
I think you're afraid of taking that leap.
Don't tell me what to believe, at the very least.
Everyone has their own soul, so unique.
We can all think for ourselves, we don't need to keep
A guidebook around like a flock of sheep.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
By: Abaigeal Skye
Society's guidebook to being a "successful woman"
Was surely written by men who wanted to be more "successful with women"
For it is graced by the grimy fingerprints
That bound these pages with the soot
Of burned out attempts at seduction.
Look how
She turns her face away from you
As she erodes inward
To escape your invitational glare.
Hear her
Breath as it catches on each prickling remark,
Slowly unravelling from politeness
To annoyance.
Threatened.
Your mother
Must have told you that
We're humans, worthy of respect, of decency,
But
The posters boasting flesh and flesh alone
Invite you,
Condone.
This is the coward's excuse.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
When I don’t have the answer
to a problem in my path
and I want to help my neighbor
show some love on his behalf
I’ll find words of wisdom
and an answer with some art
'make sure my intuition
comes directly from my heart
For it’s shaky ground to walk on
if no guidebook’s written yet
when words are loosely spoken
there’s reactions to be met
and I'll need a wise solution
with the words that I impart
for words are more enlightened
if it’s wisdom from my heart
So I'd say it's more than muscle
that sends life thru every vein
it's the ***** I believe
where your better angel reigns
it’s the station that He tunes to;
there’s no equal counterpart
and you’ll know you’re on His wave length
when His wisdom fills your heart
Copyright Louis Brown
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 12:13 PM UTC
The first time you flew
you told the birds how unfair
it is that the air is so much
thinner up here,
that below they have to breathe
the crushing weight of the
stratosphere
just because they’re accustomed
to it, and your gasping
for breath doesn’t make
any noise yet
every day you choose life,
*man and wife
man and wife*
placed in a gunfight with a pocket knife
and a guidebook of expectation.
You don’t remember filling out an
application for this life, for
now-flightless wings and for being
their daughter,
*I will love you
come hell or high water*
and the first time you flew
you heard birds laugh at you
and the air was so thin
you fell right through,
and the silence so thick
you landed hard,
lungs aching,
but you were never afraid of the dark,
*in the high water
watch out for sharks*
because you aren’t one for stark
contrasts and it’s nice to feel
like nothing at all,
keep falling.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem you drank tea
out of a paper cup, no mug
in the sink, no need for anyone
to look up when she came home.
The first time you used the key
in your new house’s door
it fit so perfectly that you didn’t feel
at home anymore,
and the first time you were afraid of the dark
you weren’t,
because it can’t get you
if it can’t see you’ve left any mark.
The first time you didn’t
write a poem the *** boiled
even though you watched,
and you drank tea out of a paper cup
and no one looked up, it was
biodegradable and then it was
gone.
The first time you flew.
The first time you really saw you.
The first time you heard that
song called poison oak,
the first time you said what you
meant to say,
the last time you spoke.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
It is not a regulated code,
nor a law of Scripture.
No one can tell you how to feel,
or when to feel it,
or if what you're feeling is even genuine.
We don't measure the skip of a heartbeat in
'blips per second'
and when it's broken, there's no exact way to fix it.
That's why it's so hard, I think,
for most people to learn how to love, because
there is no 'this-is-how-to-do-it',
guidebook called 'Love for Dummies'
and who can tell you if you're 'strong' or not
that's not their business because
it's YOUR feelings
and they can't get inside your head or heart
and measure the blips-per-second
to tell you, 'No, that isn't love,'
or 'you're weak,'
because only YOU know if you're strong
only YOU can tell if you're in love.
it's fascinating, actually
like 'is my color red the same as your color red'
or do we just call them the same thing?'
is the way I love the same way that you love?
they talk about those butterflies
but it's more like I'm about to head down a
roller coaster
and butterflies are too gentle.
Strong is relative.
Love is relative.
Define yourself because no one else can.
and be careful, be very careful, my dear,
to make sure you get the definition you deserve.
You only get one.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
Hello
World
are you listening?
Anyone? Really?
I have some things I'd like to say.
Seriously with this Donald Trump guy?
I mean in a vacuum I understand it
like if you don't factor in that his rhetoric
is is right out of Adolf Hitler's guidebook
or our very own Joseph McCarthy
but we don't live in a vacuum
open your eyes
even if the dust is clouding them
and another thing
Mass Shootings
what the **** guys?!?
can we not do that
I get it
we all die
life is a flat circle
we'll pray for you blah blah blah
I mean holy ****
you don't have to love everybody
or even like them
but come on let's not do that
ok you're listening now
good
and gay people
why can't they ****
I mean seriously
what's wrong with a little *** play
are you that self righteous
ok
alright
****
Holy **** ****
cmon guys it's not that hard to get consent
watch a few **** pickup youtube videos
and you'll be just fine
you don't have to be a god awful person
Religion
what's up with that whole thing?
I understand that it's brought good things
and that's awesome
but do you guys really have to fight over it
I mean either your religion is the "right" one
or it isn't
and there's a ton of religions
so odds are you're wrong
so why boast about it?
water food and shelter
can we try to give that to all living people
even if their skin is different from ours
is it really that hard guys
I mean Geez
They told me life would be hard
it isn't
or at least it shouldn't be
if people would just listen
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls.
Victims of emotion, eruption of life lust
to die for nothig is unjust
we'll never surrender
we're people of the words
writing a guidebook to love
love your friends
love your family
love your life
love yourself
yourself is all you have and all you'll be and by the end of this journey, you'll set yourself free.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
Love,
fine and dandy
when you're in it,
but when you're looking for it
a guidebook might come in handy.
Sep 26, 2022
Sep 26, 2022 at 2:47 PM UTC
There are so many things I’m yet to learn
Ignorance I can blame on my youth
But often I realize how badly I’m lacking
The basics everyone else seems to know
What is the source of their information?
How can we go and call it common sense
Is there a manual I have somehow missed
A guidebook for a good way to live
Once did I find it and opened its cover
And I don’t dare to look it up anymore
But still in my dreams, I see the title
“In case your mother didn’t teach you”
Aug 21, 2025
Aug 21, 2025 at 9:20 AM UTC
With 2G phone in hand
No sign of a ring-light stand
The un-influencer comes to the table
He doesn't tweet when people die
Says negative things that will make you cry
Gets stuck when logging in
Wears holes in his clothes that really should be in a bin
Writes bad poetry that nobody reads
Writes bad blogs that would make your eyes bleed
States the obvious when asked
Laughs and then makes you gasp
Doesn't check his look before zooming
Doesn't check his volume, it's booming
To be avoided at social functions
Should be served with a court injunction
May 1, 2022
May 1, 2022 at 12:39 PM UTC
Whoe'ver the still examines, must define
The wond'rous shifts of the immortal Time;
To kindly witness, the graybeard's silent gaze
From youth to age, from guidebook to learned ways.
Divided only by the fixed life stage,
The youth consults, and the elderly explain.
Slow the transition when the hours date,
From mighty Boy's knees to old aching gait.
While for the Old Man's loss the Young Boy gains,
Old Men comfort and Young Boys wisdom attains.
Here Boy listens to the old learned ways,
There in silent gaze wistful hungry boyhood stays.
Mem'ries and rememb'ring give time for time,
And young knees below, and old above climb.
While simple youngster shake the leg of old,
Experienced veteran like prophet hold,
Eager minds and submission mix their servile roles,
Lads and Late in waiting for their parole.
Smiles and sighs, proverbs and plays life abound,
And form a life-cycle that goes round and round.
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 4:50 PM UTC
At 28 years I have become more self-interested
than I have been for two decades.
I am exploring all the granite holds my mind can grip,
all the ways my heart can cleave,
what fits into my body, the feeling of entry and exit,
how invasion stings and where I build my walls,
what quiets my horses and what scatters them galloping.
I used to look outside all the time like a periscope,
but now my navel fascinates me.
For so long it didn’t really matter who I was.
I simply was. I did. I perceived. I acted. I reacted.
The world needed my discovery. I yearned to stomp
all over its trails recording my findings.
Now I am ecologist frantically cataloguing the behaviors,
daily rituals, feeding and mating practices
of the only one of my species. Now it feels paramount
to carve out the hollow where I shall nest,
to place a sign for others, and a pair of binoculars
and a guidebook: “The Wild Me.”
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 7:49 PM UTC
To be hidden inside
Once heartbroken
Lost trust in the eyes of the people
The heart like a custard donut but only filled with pain
Afraid
Learned an extent of how players play
A guidebook to an unforeseen hurt
Remedies thought to be euphoric
To have it all escape in the hands of time
Afraid
A dark room to find a soul balled under the linen sheets
Used tissues lay on the bedside
Tissues containing tears of the lost
The lost and the loss now being chosen
Afraid
Memories clouding the air
Suffocating and so so so compelling
Compelling to remember the chapter
A chapter written long ago
Until the time arrives for the page to turn
Afraid
No need to be
Don't be afraid
Let me in
For I'll be forever
A shoulder to lean on
Afraid
Afraid is simply what we will make it
Together
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC