"hammy" poems
Back in 2003 I found a piece of me
buried, like a shard of pottery, in the sandbox.
A Hot Wheel’s car, little rusted with one tire missing
that I used to shove in the little zippered flap
of my Powerpuff Girls backpack. Older, fifteen,
I carved another piece of me out and pasted it
to a vanilla letter, sliding the envelope through the slits
in his locker door, and I lost it. I’m not even sure he read it.
Nineteen, faded and little stolen, I threw another piece of me
into my mother’s grave. Plush petals, rosary beads, crystal
liquid drops infused with microscopic memories. I cut
myself in slivers and jammed uneven edges together
just to gusto the void, compact the space, walk solid.
And now, twenty-three, I press my face against a mirror
and slide my arms into a flannel, grandpa, hammy-down.
You took the last piece. You crawled into my guard, tore the lining
and spit your black blood on the blank memoirs I had hanging
next to the split.
Take me, now, if that’s how it’s gunna be. You wanna live
with the dust bunnies in my baggage? Feed off my insecurities,
my staggered breath, or my mercury dreams? I don’t want to be saved.
I’ve made my own maze with only one way out, so you’re trapped
in the Miss Havisham model I’ve made, rotten cake. Build yourself
a new girl from my discards, suckle the marrow from my bones,
and blow, like a glass ornament, a pretty replica of who I am.
Isn’t that what you wanted? Wasn’t that part of the chase?
The sweet idea that you could pull some perfect women out of the rubble?
I bet that’d be nice to show off, you ******* But here’s the catch,
I know I’m broken. You don’t need to remind me. So take
the smiles I’ve learned to draw on my lips for two cents,
and give up the **** fight I know you won’t win.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
pile your musty ten
-drills of cloth in an anonymous
mold rainbow
pile suited
impostures that cut out the
life of you
pile white t-shirts
stained in crimson
pile hip hugging denim
that never left ya
pile cotton
once bloated calmly against
blush tickled skin and pile nine
white ankle socks and one
wool sweater.
pile rite set hammy
downs to the ground just pile
everything and anything
that clung weathered to ya
pile your game day penny
sweat in a velvet aroma of
cheap beer and hot glue
pile up iron pressed blouses
and saggy waged sweats
pile color scented molds
dipped in tethered laced
songs of you.
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 3:07 PM UTC
The smell of stale smoke lingers through our hair,
A staunch like presence,
but never fully there.
Yellow stained fingers,
and blood soaked knuckles..
hammy-downs that don’t fit quite right, awake critiquing ourselves late at night.
Hoping and preying not to become what we’re destined to be.
Drifting through the slums,
Seeking some kind of pleasure.
Friends and family succumbing to ice,
Melbourne’s national treasure.
Young souls corrupted,
so much potential forsaken.
One hit,
And it’s total annihilation.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 1:00 AM UTC
Honey, I love you, really I do
just like a hog loves slop
your big stick-out ear I chew
what the heck is this glop?
I kiss your chops, pucker up
hold me tight in the pen
mud pies are the runners' cup
if we win, we'll run again.
Dear, I nestle near your nuzzle
smooch me all over my face
take me apart just like a puzzle
I've lost my dignity and grace.
But first we have a race to win
slather soil, don't dare foil
beat the pork out of your twin
let's make it worth the toil.
I can always tell you two apart
you say you wonder how?
I can look at your counterpart's
moon when he take a bow.
Yours is handsome, his only cute
Hammy, you are my choice
let's cuddle in our birthday suits
tell 'im to drink with the boys,
so we can be alone, you and I
take a bath in tub of mud pies.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
You can learn a lot
from a Facebook page
just from the pictures shown
what things a person collects
what kinds of things they own
their likes and dislikes
vacations that they've taken
how many kids
how many pets
even what time they awaken
but mostly I like to notice
how many "selfies" there are
sometimes it's quite amazing
you'd think they were
some kind of star
headshots would be another
good name
for those poses oh so hammy
smiling, grinning, grimacing
goofy, questioning, campy
those infamous pictures
on Facebook
shots showing a craving
that everyone look!
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 11:48 AM UTC
Mistakes, ones not of their own, that taunt them to this day.
Some sips down the throat and those visions grow bearable, blurry.
Times have changed them, times have changed me.
Rips in their only pants, holes in their hammy down shirts.
Broken soles on the shoes they've had for years,
substance in their systems for longer than that.
Terrors in their heads, worry keeping em up in their bed.
Feeling lonely and empty, empty handed and still giving.
Unsure if their life is even worth living.
Things are harder than they seem, can you blame them? Can you blame me?
A stooge off the side of the road, from the place they decided to roam.
A broken lighter in a pocket, in the other- what no one knows.
Their bruised skin rapidly wearing thin, their eyes caving in.
A life no one chooses but is shown,
one you only venture into when you end up alone.
Left with the invading thoughts,
doing things they've never forgot.
You can't relate until you see, you can't blame them, you can't blame me.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
Babby feet and little weeds
one two three
i love you
little frowns and hammy downs
red green blue
i love you
finding snails and pigtails
sac red blu
i love you
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
This began as a criticism of overproduced, hammy, yowly, look-at-me, as-arranged-by-a-junior-high-assistant-band-director interpretations of the National Anthem. It deteriorated. I blame the Russians.
Does Anyone Sing the National Anthem These Days?
Because Francis Scott Key was all about Who-Whoa-Whoa and Yay-Yay-Yay
A minute or so of recorded music
Over-produced in that insta-emo style
Then followed by “Whoa whoa yay oh yay whoa
Whoa yay yay yay whoa oh yay whoa whoa whoa
Whoa yay oh yay whoa whoa yay yay yay whoa
Oh yay whoa whoa whoa whoa yay oh yah
Yay whoa whoa yay yay yay whoa oh yay whoa
Whoa whoa whoa yay oh yay whoa whoa yay yay
Yay whoa oh yay whoa whoa whoa yay yay
It’s all about me-me-me-me-me-meeeeeeeeeeemeeeeeeeeeeeemeeeeeeee!”
Followed by –
Baseball: “Play ball!”
Racetrack: “Gentlemen, start your engines!”
Rodeo: “Gentlemen, start your cattle!”
The federal government’s Outer Continental Shelf Oil & Gas Lease Sales
Close: “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s open your sealed bids!”
School: “Teachers, start your sophomores.”
Austin, Texas City Council: “And now, Comrade Muffin Snort-Ponsonby,
BA, MA, MEd, Chair Emerita of the Travis County Sensitivity League, will
chant her original composition, “Spiritual Wind-Song Ode to Comrade
Stalin.”
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 5:15 PM UTC
This was prompted by the wonderful The Queen Creative over at Wordpress.
From Wikipedia:
Honne and tatemae are Japanese words that describe the contrast between a person’s true feelings and desires (本音 honne?) and the behavior and opinions one displays in public (建前 tatemae?, lit. “façade”).
1. Sent Up For Good (Tatemae)
I’m a convincing stranger.
My Englishness pulls at my
Starched white collar.
My fingers,
So piano fine and buttoned down,
are little sticks of ivory.
My spittle mouth brushes away
indigo blushes
of spent ink
and my hair
has a perfect parting
separated by
a red pencil
in the morning.
A little gentleman in
Tom Brown tails,
Nervously buttering bread.
Hammy, clipped,
Knows it off by heart,
( Lucien tells me that
He plans to get a new suit made).
2. Sent Down For Bad (Honne)
In my Prince’s bedchamber
My Englishness pulls at his
Starched white collar.
My fingers,
Like white-wine and goose down,
Flick with the
little kicks of bribery.
My little mouth flushes
with overflowing gushes
Of his spent ink
And my hair
Has an imperfect parting
Which will be separated
By a red pencil in the morning.
A little temperamental man in
**** detail,
Gluttonously giving head.
Jammy lipped,
The School ****
(Lucien tells me that
he plans to **** a maid).
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
I knew there was
Trouble to be had
When they called me
Up to the executive
Floor and sat me down
At a mahogany table
Long enough to seat 12
Across from the
Stoic HR lady
We sat alone
Save the head of
My division
Who wore a thin
Line of a mouth and
A loud red vest and
Matching bowtie
He rested his bony elbows
On the table and said
"Too many mistakes
Have been made
We've decided to
Terminate your
Employment"
This came as somewhat
Of a shock to me
I didn't like my job
Few people do
They wouldn't pay
You if it was fun
But still
I showed up
On time
Greeted the customers
Counted the money
Locked the vault
Did what was expected of me
And did my best to
Exceed that
I guess those were all
Mistakes
"Ok"
I said
And the HR lady
Jammed a hammy
Opened hand into my
Face and I shook it
Numbly
I followed the flaming
Red vest down to the
Lobby where my
Staff watched me
Clean out my desk
Everyone had a
Strange sourness to
Their faces like they
Had smelled a **** that
Hinted at some deeper
Health issue
I turned my keys
And combos over
Told my staff to have
A nice weekend and
Walked out the front door
When I got home I
Stood in the hallway
Not sure of what to do
Next
My dad asked from
His office
"What are you doing
Home? "
"They fired me"
"Huh. Well, no worries
Everyone gets fired at
Some point"
I walked up to
My room and put
The box of
Coffee mugs
Hot Sauce
A Death Valley
Postcard from
My mom that I
Had taped on
My desk
Down on my
Bed
After two miserable
Years of my life
The only thing I had
Gotten from that place
Were a few coffee mugs
And a constant weight on
My chest
I sat down on the end of
My bed and felt that weight
Melt like warm butter
Off my chest
Down my legs
And disappear through
The cracks of my
Hardwood floor
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
So I take it reading this your day *****
and you want to go from a F to an A+
sit back in that chair
don't you move from right there
and I'll give you my secret to get the spirits up.
Now you'd may come off as hammy,
but imagine you're at the Oscars or Grammys
You've just won for best whatever
now you're on the stage, be clever!
so your hands and face don't get clammy
So while you're on stage with your speech
think about your past friends for a second each
now that you have them in play
here's what to say
I'd like to thank all the little people I had to step on, I wrote their names down, I'll read them off one each
There you have it, that's my secret to bring cool
and though you may think I sound like an insufferable tool
when I walk across the stage
I hope you won't be enraged
when I come by with millions at out reunion for school
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC