"gyms" poems
Gold glitter
Only stays on the ceiling
When the upholstery is gray.
Church gyms are suddenly
Piggy banks to play
Basketball upon.
I will draw a city on
The bulletin board
And owl pushpins will inhabit it.
My mind is no longer in a
Casing of gray rick-rack
And suppositions I do not feel.
It is a precarious thing to
Play a solar piano
Under the midday sky.
Have you ever heard
A pumpkin-flavored
Volkswagen van?
It happened suddenly
That everything I could possibly
See became a photography contest.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Sitting solid on a thinking throne
Drinking bottles that sing melancholy tones
Singing lone, resonating to your bones
Your fragile little frame cannot save the show
Not when you're casting skys clouding with crows
Your mind is pale, sick to it's stomach
Everything up there can't reconcile, but luck
It's begun to resonate quietly like a comets tail
When your playing on mental jungle gyms of shale
I'm sure there's things that keep you up
Drugs, and alcohol, and fasting all day
A cyclical belt of asteroid tales
You think so much you've burnt an image
Of cotton dreams, so soft and harsh, but somehow sail
You may never grasp them, but you've reached so far you've become so frail
It's hard to try, it's even harder to pry
Open your heart, and let yourself cry
The castles you build are built of tears, and the cemetery near is calling your fears
The foundation is weak, and your pastor you seek, but everything you've found thus far, oblique
Cast your shadows as you will, but they're just funny puppets you've conjured in the night still
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
There'll be a crowd encircling you, I'm sure.
They'll nod at your every word, imperfectly mimicking
what people look like when they actually listen.
I'm sure the crowd will be people we know.
Old high school friends with real estate ventures
and gyms and multi-level marketing schemes.
Most of them will be doughier, their cheeks permanently
stained red from a decade of drinking.
Most of them will have photos of their kids on their phones,
and they'll tell you they're "sure you don't want to see them"
as they pull out their phones and show you photos of their kids.
I imagine I'll approach, stop just short of the circle, pretend to bid on an Alaskan cruise.
As you talk about redoing your floor in a faux tile that looks just like the real thing for like half the price, you'll see me.
I hope you'll think of that kiss five years ago, outside of a bar in Norman, when the world entire bent for us, when all traffic silenced for us, when all people vanished for us.
Maybe you'll think of the time we ****** in a twin-sized bed, beside a wall decorated with newspaper clippings, which I thought made me look worldly and learned. I admit now the look was less academic, more serial killer.
And maybe you'll think of the manchild fit I threw when I found out you had moved on after I moved away.
And maybe you'll be totally present. Good to see you, you'll say. You will ask about my family. We will discuss the cooler weather. We will talk about your business, your kids. We will side hug and say goodbye. We will take the same route to the same exit. There will be children coloring the sidewalk with chalk. We'll each borrow a piece. I'll outline you; you'll outline me.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
The demon scratches me
I bite him back
The demon pushes me
I spit in his face with a smack
The demon taunts me
I calleth him out by name
They hate their name called
Don't wanna be recognized for the flame
The demon shows false affections
I giveth him hate
The demons a smiler as he latches to me
I'll kick him to hells gate
The demons find me downtimes
Though with God I shalt win
Demons love misery
To seeith one in sin
Demons are smelly
Like all the dump trucks on the earth
Times ten
Demons haveth enemies
They hate even their own kind
They haveth none kin
Demons haveth a date
With Satan in the fire
They'll turn thou on with lust
For thou they do admire
Demons hast hurt me
They've tried to bring me to mine death
Soo many health issues
I know tis not me
Them
The demons hast entered mine family
From the lives we didst choose!
They entered by portals
Between good and bad souls
They came and come as orbs
Spirtual energy
Trapped to a distance
God won't let them get to close to me
They always want more
They show themselves now and then
They'll portray themselves as good souls
Wherein its all pretend
The demons speaketh in mine bathroom
They hide out in the closets
Parched behind mine bedroom wardrobe
Spies as I sleepeth
They want mine bright soul
It's full of massive glowing energy
They know it as I'm told
So to bad because their not me
They made a big mistake
Turning away from God
Now their outcast losers
Fate of hell and grud!!
They'll soon be in chains and shackles
So they cause pain now whilst here on earth
They come in all shapes and sizes as I've heard from many others
Psychics
Life after death (experiences)
And from preachers
Pastors and others
They come large
Small
Animal like
Mauled
They come stinky
Scaly
Nothing thou shalt imagine
Couldn't fathom
Their everywhere
City streets
Malls
Gyms
Stalls
Homes
Air
First heaven
Second heaven
Hell
Everywhere
Yet these demons cannot taketh me
They knoweth I'm gods light
So demon get hence from me....
Go burn in thine own fright!!!!
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
(fictional tale of real beverages)
he sat at table number 9
she chose 10
their eyes never met
but only through the wall wide gilded mirror across the room
he thought her name was Faith
she guessed his was Luke
he took a sip from his mocha massimo every 41 secs
she guessed he was 41, slowly stirring her white-no-sugar earl grey
she wondered if the girl on page three of his 'Sun' was a blond, a brunette or a red head
he wondered what principle she's at in 'Why men love bitches'
they ate lemon and poppy seed muffins with small bites
his lips were firm
hers unable to hold on to the cheery blush lipstick any longer
he thought she was single and had a RSPCA rescued cat called Biscuit
she guessed he was married with three children and a wife called Porscha
she must be driving a Ka
he must be driving a Jag
she waters her plants every Tuesday, goes to pilates classes on Thursday and on Sundays she watches Terms of Endearment in her pink jumper with her friend Chris and a box of tissues
he walks his dog at 7, plays rugby for Long Lane on Saturdays and on Fridays goes for a pint of Guiness with his friend, Joe
he snores/ she sings in the shower
he's a catholic/ she never quite liked Jesus
he hates his wife/ she loves her cookies
they laugh at the old woman shouting at a bus driver in the street and hate gyms, cyclists in Lycra and anything to do with politics
they secretly read Keats, eat onion bagels and tomato soup and listen to Gershwin
*
they never spoke
they never will
because if they would
Faith would never be able to watch Star Wars again and Luke -
Luke would lose his faith in
love at first sight
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
I.
A louse in a house
or a mouse on a blouse.
A bell that goes ****
or a gong that goes ****
A gap on a map
or a cap on your lap.
A drink in the sink
or an ink that stinks.
A spleen on a screen
or a queen who is green.
A bow in the snow
or a crow that glows.
II.
A wash or a whip,
a lip or a lop,
a top or a tip,
a car or afar,
a bar or a war,
a door or a snore,
a bore or a nail,
a flail or a whale,
a run or a bun,
a sun or a moon,
a spoon or a bus,
a fuss or a sigh,
a cry or a cheer,
a fear or a smile,
a while or a pen,
a den or a cat,
a mat or a hat,
a bat or a glass,
a vase or a weight,
a mate or a fork,
a cork or a mop,
a cop or a stop.
III.
Apples and artichokes, ants and antelopes,
bees and beers, books and brains,
cucumbers and chimneys, ***** and coats,
dogs and drains, dots and dominoes,
ears and eejits, elephants and exams,
flies and flutes, files and friends,
grasses and guts, giants and gyms,
horrors and hiccups, horses and hills,
igloos and irons, irises and idiots,
jumpers and jackets, jodhpurs and jellies,
kings and kettles, kites and kittens,
lions and lamps, lemons and lunches,
mums and monsters, mosses and moths,
noses and notes, nightmares and needles,
oblongs and orang-utans, organs and oranges,
paintings and pennies, ponds and pants,
quiches and quizzes, questions and queues,
rainbows and rings, rascals and rabbits,
snakes and sprouts, sweets and salts,
trumpets and trains, tables and toasters,
umpires and ukuleles, umbrellas and uniforms,
violets and vests, violins and vials,
wheels and wings, windows and weeds,
xylems and x-rays, xylophones and xysters,
yachts and yoghurts, yards and yaks,
zigzags and zephyrs, ziggurats and zombies.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
Sand paper bags scratch empty city streets, like nails on chalkboards. It’s amazing how silence can be scary. I gaze upon empty playground grass, the rampant, rapacious children are no longer able to climb jungle gyms to be king of the world. Why? I believe someone invited the Devil to dinner. He scorched earth and burnt tears in barren city streets, I alone see the beauty in the destruction. Amongst anguish and anger, lies pure serenity. An ending is just as beautiful as a beginning, like light to files, I’m addicted to pain. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you how demise is perfect. It’s starts with a smile, broken. Too many demons spiting languages of hot lava that sounds similar to the solar maximum, It’s my mind that breaks from reality. Unstable and unappreciated, pain is the only way I can rid the stress, So I have believed. Starting like a headache, addicting like ****** or cough syrup, The rush of blood spiraling round my upper thigh is something I used to look forward to,
It was the only thing I could say I did for myself.
Moments spilled into months, months pouring into one self-inflicting year, If only I could show the buckets I filled with the sadness I was afraid to share with the world. I finally put the blades away when I made a mother watch her baby boy dig scissors into his wrists. Rosy-red cheeks and rain-drop tears slipping down her face was enough to know I could I do better. I needed to do better. So, I washed the blood away, erasing every past memory I thought I should regret. I know life is no ethcy-sketch, the marks I once was proud of bare the same weight of shame. I consider my addiction to be my savior. If I never landed on rock bottom, I would never know the power it takes to stand back up. Now I wake among empty city streets, Sand paper bags sit silently, It’s amazing how silence can be comforting. I alone see the beauty behind the monster that tore apart my freckled canvas. I look at the Devil in the mirror.
Dinner is finished.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
*if i had known that
that was the only time
i'd ever get to hold your hand,
i would have held on longer*
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
3am the Enemy
3am the demons come out to play
coursing through the soul
the heart- it’s prey
The mind- the playground
monkey bars
and jungle gyms
a place where ‘what-if’s’
hang and linger
the air is pungent
and regret permeates
the night humidity
all but makes the stench lesser
putrid like rotting garbage
like the doll you
had to keep you safe
as a little child
that since should’ve been thrown
away
years ago.
the haven for mold
and dust mites
and other things toxic
3am
human’s one true
enemy.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
She gets bodied by minds
Our Intellect intertwined
Gets her wet until
She drowns in my words
Then comes alive
Just to save her suicides
She runs it back a hundred times
Like running backs trying to find
A hole in my defensive lines
She's a sporty shorty
Dropping gyms to try and court me
But when I land one
She says that's foul on the scoresheet
She sees that I'm a stand up guy
Looking for floor seats
I score to force overtime
And now I need more sheets
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
“A relationship with knowledge”
It was said in preschool classrooms,
Childish cafeterias and forgotten
Blissfully, on the monkey bars and jungle gyms
It was said to raging delinquents
Preached to a stuffy, shy girl
Busy pushing her glasses too close to her nose
Fidgeting around the corners of the library
It made its way towards teachers
And raucous PTA meetings
Each lobbyist far too adamant;
Ears drooped and beleaguered
A relationship with knowledge
Well
Who is this knowledge?
Does he play nice?
I think I met him, once
He smiled at me, dirtied- on the street
But I can’t really be sure
He seems to be awfully elusive
How silly, to make a relationship
With someone who never seems to show up
But maybe its not his fault
maybe we’ve ruined his fun
Watching us now, elbows dug into text
Bracing like bulls staring down cobbled streets
It seems an awfully aggressive stance
To take with company
It looks as if our teachers lied
We are trying to capture knowledge
Or I wouldn’t be the only one
To sit by the train tracks
Waiting for my friend to come along
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
One man who stood among giants
Short in status
Mighty in endurance
It was the spotlight in posing
The man’s name was Ed Corney
Mr. Corney was a Master Poser
Amazement and determination throughout
Dazzle in muscle as they entertained
Ed Corney is a name that just remain
It all relates to the sport of Bodybuilding
Mr. Corney muscles were always ready and pumped
He trained with precision
Mr. Corney practiced posing with all the right moves
Posing with transition in elegance being smooth
Dramatics beyond any verbal script, but creativity being an art
Mr. Corney can be seen in the documentary of Bodybuilding being “PUMPING IRON “
Bodybuilding was Ed Corney’s heart
It was the fire burning within from the very start
One would often see Ed Corney among Arnold Schwarzzenger, Franco Columbu and Serge Nubret and other Bodybuilding champions
Mr. Corney trained lacking nothing, but everything to gain
Competition to win being the purpose
Yet Ed Corney was more than just Bodybuilding
It didn’t matter he won numerous bodybuilding titles, but ne never loss sight of devoted fans
It was Mr. Corney fans encouragement, and that is what caught Mr. Corney’s eyes on the prize of bodybuilding achievement
Mr. Corney was a humanitarian in every sense of the word
The weights in all gyms have dropped down on all floors
The loss of a Bodybuilding Champion
A long list of Bodybuilding competitions
A muscled hero will be posing in Heaven
Ed Corney’s final competition is won
He is in God’s Kingdom
God said, “I will give you rest and on Earth you did your best”
You have achieved awards on Earth
But Heaven will be your enriched birth
Ed Corney words he might would say, “Thank you fans, but my work in Bodybuilding is finished, and remember me in being distinguished. Train wise and achieve your own expectations, but always have the art of Bodybuilding in appreciation. Remember the greats who made Bodybuilding what it is today, and tomorrow being your heritage. It has been honor to share with you being one of the Bodybuilding stars. My journey has taken me beyond the Bodybuilding skies and planets. This is not a finale, but until we meet again.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
Cards and coins and doves and smoke
Just ways to memerize the folk
Who come to dine and hear me joke
About the things I do
Restaurants, gyms and shopping malls
Weekend shows in legions halls
I have some phones...if someone calls
About the things I do
Houdini, Blackstone, Randii
Switching cards at times for candy
All things I must keep handy
to do the shows I do
I'll never make a million
Never do the big reveal
I work just for tips and smiles
Trying to pay for my next meal
Sleight of hand's my favorite
Keep them watching, fool them all
"Now which one did it go under"
"Can you surely find the ball?"
Drinking, drugs, an my depression
A nationwide finance recession
I do not make a good impression
I'm a magician ...level two
Small clubs, folks homes, and free dinners
Show the tricks that are my winners
Show them to the saints and sinners
I'm a magician ....level two
To most I will stay nameless
***** it up, and I am blameless
Some folks comments , they are shameless
Tomorrow...I'll be gone
I don't repeat my shows too often
I hardly do a second show
It's not because I do not like it
It's just these are the only tricks I know
I make things appear out of nowhere
It tricks the old folks and the young
I will never be remembered
I"m just one whose song is sung
I'm more slight of hand than ever
I've more patter than I've tricks
Sleight of hand lost to arthitis
Like what I do and that trick sticks
Cape and wand with no assistant
I'll get it right, I am persistant
I'm nothing if I'm not consistent
"Which cup has the missing ball?"
I am a level two magician
In the yellow pages, find my name
There's hundred more out there just like me
And all our tricks, they are the same
Thank you for your contribution
I thinks it grants you absolution
If I am bad, no retribution
I'm slight of hand...not sleight no more.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 8:33 PM UTC
Once in my life I feel free to walk amongst the playground we call our city.
Broken dreams dreams left behind to leave us bleed In the open parking lots we need.
For every crack pipe I see I bleed tears of wants and needs for the dreams left behind by the teens kids and adults
Who have the need of a squeeze from the devils pipe.
We our scared to find our way across the jungle gyms known as our streets.
Due to the lack of motivation by the contemplation of a sensation ready to mingle with our imagination making a revelation for the kids with no more of a sick altercation leading back to the evaluation of our lost imaginations of a crowd of broke down sinners.
Jungle gym streets filled with almighty desire of hates and pleads.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
She opened her eyes
Staring in the ceilling of solitude
No jobs, No bills
Waiting for the time to come
But will it ever?
She does her bath
And attended her gyms
Eats in the cafeteria
Of the misdemeanors
She has the hand of Hermes
Good for pickpocketing and handicrafts
In her other time she has
A shadow she becomes doing tricks and trades
Pro you can say in cards, she had a lot of time to practice
Just like that her youth wasted
An act of atrocity
Leading to an ended road
She sure has a lot of time
But yet running out of
Only what she can do now is remorse
She has freedom
But yet leashed
Only what she can do now is behave
Sometimes
A freedom inside is not a freedom outside
Only then you realize what value freedom has
When you dont possess it
May 21, 2021
May 21, 2021 at 6:23 AM UTC
even when done
can still hold it together
we are one
you and us
me and them and you
the same form in the sky
sherry clouds and blue winds
it's a pretty little town
picket fences and jungle gyms
and you think to yourself:
just what in the blazes
is going on here?
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 12:14 AM UTC
No milquetoast kids dare summit jungle gyms
nor dream from monkey bars suspended
o’er perilous mulches, heads filled by the sanguine
rush of juvenile enthusiasm for garden hoses
bruised knees and peanut butter sandwiches;
Only august lad or lass may escape those sandboxes
to tumble into the cavernous ball pit of emancipation,
last dino bones dug up and whirling whispers
lost soon as spoken across merry-go-round envisioning
fantastic autumn nights that promised monsters
Forsaken mud pies dry and crack, no more edible
with juice box than without, hopscotching into
sportsball cartoon boom box jumprope Sunday songs
of Jesus midwest bedtime prayers, sincerest supplication
application for wellness heaven and bully protection
We seesaw through scraps of nostalgia, frolic
into slip-sliding wet hot summer drops to mask
messy tears, swimming defiantly away from repentance
but begging a little help from God to keep the rusty
swing set chains from breaking now as we push higher
Sure, it takes some work to build a playground right,
and what sign do we have it's safely been constructed?
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
Imagine it; kids in the park full of whim and ecstasy
Happiness to the brim, "to be young wild and free"
I had a very pleasant dream the other day
I was young again, just careless, free to play
and it dawned on me, how far gone I was to those times
All I do now is stress about the hours ahead of me, the days past
When we are adults, we cannot forget can we? Our minds are never free to wander, free to cast out all the troubles and darkness that dampen our spirits.
Adulthood isn't quite what they said it would be
I remember being a kid, waiting to be free, free from control- free to make my own decisions
But life wants none of that does it? Curve-balls keep getting thrown at us, hurdles upon hurdles upon hurdles, I just cannot keep up. I cannot fathom the amount of times I've fallen and pondered just staying down, down on the filth of despair, the dirt of down-trodden, the earth that is our sorrows,
But I just can't.
The same dream rewinds and plays on in my head. Jungle gyms, jumping castles and swings, this is the stuff of Kings.
It's this dream that keeps us going I guess
Otherwise why put up with all this stress
To accept life as it is, to play around and be free
To laud the grace of childhood and whimsy.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
its nice to be in shape
buffed up
in mannequin world
ive frequented gyms
for years
i like nice bodies
to often though
thats where nice
stops
while
nomadic
cliques
of
self admiring gym gods
squeeze out their last
leg press
bench press
laughing
slappin five
indulging
in the theater of
acoustic grunts
a public exhibition
of self aggrandizement
while the lost
uninitiated
look on
progress-less
who fear being objectified
while obsessed
objectify themselves
they
wana be icons too
magnets of adoration
unable to imagine
that their imagine-less
waxed bleached buffed
and mute
muzzled
by group think
desolated hungry women
terrified
by the direct approach
in avoidance
of the blood hot glance
liking to believe its their mind
that should excite
testosterone soaked men
these young women
pretending not to care
and show their
come **** me daddy
tears of desire
dreaming of the one
turning down the fleshy offerings
of Aphrodite
with eyes that say
i don't think so
for fear of being called a *****
in Mannequin World
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 5:36 PM UTC
My brain is a wheelchair
And people think I am flying
Over cities and wastelands
Jungle gyms and green public pools
I assume the role of deformity
I am my very best Judas
Because I am lazy and can walk with the rest of them
My heart is deformed and dumb
And perfect people pity it
They hold it tight and translate
Its mumblings and tantrums
Into innocent sermons
I feel bad for my heart too
It should have been thrown off a cliff
Like the ancients used to do
My hands are plastic machines
And I fear them more than God
They scratch me in my sleep
They poke holes in my stomach and my faces
But worst of all
They write letters that show people
places I’ve never dared to be.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 1:13 PM UTC
I want to be better. But not the kind of better you see on the billboards advertising gyms or the ones mentioned in the hymns sung by entire choirs of liars and deniers of bad desires. I want to be better in the worst way possible.
I want to play air-guitar concerts for stuffed animals, I want to be able to smile in a way that leaves contempt snuffed out like a candle-cap. I want to be able to rap in Chinese.
I want to be able to reinvent the word 'cool', hang out with absolute tools and not just because somebody has to. I want to be able to rule my own mind and mind my own rules. I want to find my running shoes so when I go to the fight behind the dollar store, I'll remember what I bought them for.
I want to be so much more and all these issues I can't ignore be much less. I want to make myself confess how much I love my friends, turn dead-ends into new beginnings and then spend my lottery winnings on a stranger because the only danger I see is never having been able to know them.
The truth is, I'll never be the icon of an attractive guy. I'm never be able to buy a girl a drink and not have her immediately think of what kind of a clod I am that thinks that kind of thing still works.
I keep finding myself trying to rewrite my history where the cliffhanger at the end has a parachute. Where minute details matter less and I can say I tried my best and people noticed.
I will one day be better but I'll always still be me and honestly, I think I'd still sell my inheritance to put enough money down the wishing well to make the two days you were in love with me swell into an eternity.
But we both have other things to be doing than loving someone. We have legacies we have to build on the our bare backs and suicide attacks that need to be led.
And let it be said that I have not a clue-'n'-half how this turned into a love poem...
but in my head there is a world where in that time and place, I didn't need to be better.
I wasn't perfect. I was good enough.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
*Going to the Gym was not a common activity for public then.
T'was only the place for body builders and professional athletes
Now it is a common place for everyone who want to lose weight,
an ultimate reason.
What is wrong with humanity that they gain too much weight?
They have better locks to their houses, sound and smell proof walls so no one from outside hears and smells what's cooking inside.
Rich and working class people close their houses and eat all their food inside their houses and dine out in expensive restaurants
and drink all the good wine they could.
They throw away the left overs and run all the way to the gyms and/or
walk long distances every morning and evening to burn those calories.
So it's a process now, eat and burn through physical exercises.
But we forget the true principle of losing weights easily.
In fact it may never require going to the gym or long walks to lose those weights.
We can simply open the door of our houses, at least once, every day and just walk across to our neighbors and to the streets where the needy and homeless live.
SHARE our food and drink with them and we will be surprised
how fast we lose those stubborn weights.*
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 7:13 PM UTC
Once in my life I feel free to walk amongst the playground we call our city.
Broken dreams dreams left behind to leave us bleed In the open parking lots we need.
For every crack pipe I see I bleed tears of wants and needs for the dreams left behind by the teens kids and adults
Who have the need of a squeeze from the devils pipe.
We our scared to find our way across the jungle gyms known as our streets.
Due to the lack of motivation by the contemplation of a sensation ready to mingle with our imagination making a revelation for the kids with no more of a sick altercation leading back to the evaluation of our lost imaginations of a crowd of broke down sinners.
Jungle gym streets filled with almighty desire of hates and pleads.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC