"handstands" poems
We'd bound around
For golf downtown
Frisbees always in hand
"The students are coming!!”
Was a seasonal refrain
As we’d goofily gallivant
Mother’s Day shows
We‘re free, mother-suckers
For your kids, a show we grant
A CLOWN SHOW!
A DOWNTOWN SHOW!
THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN’T!
Rock their world with juggling
See the Doctor for what ails
Rudi and O in laundromat land
Jeanie, Splash, Allison, Donna,
Silly girls astonishing with
Leaps, jokes and handstands
Chewey, Steamboat and Grog
"Yeah-yeah! Yeah-yeah!”
Silly boys grandstanding
All hail Papa Gale! We
Funned with Cpt. Plunge
Leader of the band!
Sweet Georgia!
**** croquet!*
It was grand!
**** croquet was the official lawn game of the Sweet Georgia Brown Clowns during the summer 198x Trinity Country tour [wherein we masqueraded as a Norwegian Salmon Kissing team at a Moose Lodge Talent Show in Lewiston, CA* {true!}]: “Don’t forget your hat!”)
*(we won)
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
All dimples and curls and pigeon toes when sitting,
purple; and gold dangles
light-skinned girl, dark-skinned girl
depending on the translation
hips swivel to the left, ******* that follow
in commanding black bras
and matching lacy *******
Rolling backwards into handstands for most *************
else on the loveseat
whipping love back and forth between the swell
beneath the shorts
and beneath the outer layers,
the lip gloss smiles and masquerades
beneath the veins and bone and guts:
there's a naked, quivering heater
switched on all year long
its dainty wiring peeking out,
the head of the cord puckered.
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 1:28 AM UTC
"Memory is more indelible than ink."
—Anita Loos
~
*Europe, after the rain,
the sun lending warmth and comfort.
fringes come into focus.
shadow journal,
fiscal dreams,
becoming ****** lines on a page;
procession bells
for young brides,
veiled in lace.
a touch from her
outstretched hands,
this honeymoon phase
running up the thigh,
the holding quite still until
she smiles for pendulum.
at first light, breakfast in bed,
granting pastel wishes on
boxing night,
then a letting go of the kite string.
new fingers in the medicine bottle,
tiny geometries
inside a house of reciprocal numbers.
paradise in mnemonic children:
cartwheels and handstands,
coloring books of
neglected spaces,
future ruins.
one hundred violins
play to isles of ignorance,
stray embers settle
along the solemn Chemin De Fer (railway).
a catalogue of afternoons
on the bike path
thru propeller seeds and dragonflies.
arriving in the haloed flesh:
skin dive,
the place of couloir descent;
**** beach,
the place of odd glances;
gun chamber,
the room of secondary light;
all horizon variations.
an algebra of darkness,
this dense Roman twilight,
their exiles unreflected
in blind lanterns.
our brightness will become
refracting silhouettes,
a broken yolk in the incendiary sky.*
~
Aug 29, 2022
Aug 29, 2022 at 12:38 PM UTC
Tonight, let’s take God hostage
throw Him in the backseat
have Him show us around town
We're "those kids"
spending our afternoons learning how to do handstands on nail beds
The ones that foresee failure and live in the moment
Sit on street corners and barter for advice
Let's treat this world as an etch-a-sketch
For we are nothing more than flecks of aluminum looking for a physical reaction
More like soul mates than friends
If you fused us all together you might have one functioning addition to society
Making wishes at 11:11
Looking for beauty in air,
We breathe out to give inspiration to sonnets
Dreaming of switchblades and palm trees, we sit next to the fire
Our feet shoved in embers, burning off the memories of passing Decembers
We pass a flask of whiskey and daydreams
Keeping our mouths sealed tight around the top
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 2:37 AM UTC
This is what he promised me:
August, and berries that fell
right into my hands; he
promised me handstands. He
promised me bees, he said
the nights would smell sweet
and wet flower petals would
stick to my toes. He said I'd
just know. He promised me
sparrows, and switchgrass that
crept past the hem of my skirt.
He promised me clean dirt, and
hard work. He promised an
August that I'd always remember,
then stayed 'til November.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
Maybe we’ve moved past
The jazz dancing nights
Baby brownie bites into freedom
Now
A pathology of pathologically pathetic patterns
Day in, day out
Wax on, wax off
One of these days:
I’ll learn the piano
Beethoven, bach, ben folds
One of these days
Handstands, happiness, hope
Will string through the summer loving
Hooligans
One of these days
We robo-people will wind down,
Slow,
Stop,
Need oil for our rusted bits
Head, shoulders, knees, and even toes
But, mr. tin man, what if Dorothy
Never comes along?
We won’t blink for centuries
And maybe the world will finally come alive
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 8:01 PM UTC
I walk across
to Hannah's flat
in Arrol House
and knock at the door
Mrs Scott opens
the door and stands there
she's a short thin woman
with a face of granite
with a slit
where her mouth is
whit is it?
she says
her Scottish accent
rough as stone
is Hannah home?
I ask
I dunnae kinn
she replies
HANNAH
she bellows
over her shoulder
Benedcit is haur fur ye
she adds
scowling at me
jist coming
Hannah replies
from back in the flat
yoo'll hae tae bide
Mrs Scott says
and walks back inside
leaving me
on the red tiled step
I look into the interior
of the flat
and smell breakfast
having been cooked
I look back
into the Square
kids are playing
near by
on the pram sheds
and over by the wall
girls are doing handstands
their feet
against the wall
dresses falling
over their heads
showing underwear
sorry about Mum
she has a mouth on her
Hannah says
where we going?
she asks
thought we'd go
to the South Bank
see the Thames and boats
and have ice cream
I say
do I need money?
she asks
just about 2/-
I say
for bus fares
and ice cream
I'll ask Mum
for a handout
but wait for the answer
Mum have you 2/-
I can have?
Hannah asks
fa dae ye hink
Ah am Rockerfeller?
nae Ah huvnae
her mother replies
no problem
I say to Hannah
I'll have enough
for us both
are you sure?
yes don't aggravate
your mother more
than you have to
so Hannah gets her coat
and we walk off
through the Square
she's like that sometimes
Hannah says
she's as tight
as a wing nut
we walk down the slope
and up Meadow Row
I ask her how her father is
she says
he's Ok but in
the doghouse more often
as not with Mum
but he's a softy
to Mum's hardness
but Mum says
he's soft in the heed
but he's lovely really
Hannah says
-I know her old man
he's English and a bit
simple after helping
to empty out Belsen camp
in 1945 where some
he told me were
more dead as alive-
we wait at the bus stop
she with her dark hair
pony tailed
with a tartan skirt
and white blouse
and me in blue jeans
and white shirt
and quiff of brown hair
and hazel eyes
she with a budding beauty
with her mother's
touch of tongue
who if roused
could give words
full lung.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
We were the stars
We were the that’s not close enough
We were the dizzy spell when we’d stand up too quick
and our favorite colors were black
and really black
We were the spectrum
We were the prom queen and that guy
We were the that guy is in over his head
We were the balance
We were the tightrope walkers
We were the side walk chalkers
chalking up rain checks and forget me nots
We were the discovery channel
We were the sand between our toes
We were the nose goes
playing finger paints on our hearts
We were the hearts
We were the drums
We were the rat ta tat tat
tickling tattoos on our souls
We were the jazz
We were the good fight
We were the fighter and the lover
but I was neither
We were the my girlfriend will kick your ***
We were the first kiss
We were the forefront
and the afterthought
We were the only thought
We were the world
We were the Garden of the Gods
in Colorado
We were the devil
and we didn’t give a ****
We were the levee overflowing
We were the swim
We were the run through the rain with shoes on our hands
We were the last dance handstands
We were the final countdown
We were the 80’s hairband
We were the rock concert
We were the star spangled banner
We were the left hand of Jimi Hendrix
and his guitar strings
We were the good taste in music
We were the bad taste in our mouths
We were the learn to love and be loved in return
We were the optimist in a depression
We were the depression in art
We were the beauty
We were the science teacher that found proof of God
We were the proof of God
We were the class
We were the past
We were the past
We were the past
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
I want to be the me that I wanted to be when I was a kid who dreamed of being the me that I’ll be when I turn 70
I want to be a race car, a ******* rush; I want to be a daredevil on both
I want to be a tight-rope circus act, and tread daily on loose strings with firm feet and handstands
I want to be a shaman with normal senses, instead of a normal person with shamanistic pretenses
I want to look what I saw, I want to listen what I heard, I want to speak what I said with absolute, immaculate, immovable conviction
I want to be like Jim Morrison, and sail to the moon on a crystal ship
I want to be 25% pessimistic, 25% optimistic, 50% opportunistic surrealist
I want to be an Anti-Christ neutral anarchist, and go on a nihilistic bowling spree
I want to be like Jeff Lebowski
I want to be an unintentionally over-achieving burnout who’s proud of his very human frailties
I want to be my own version of Salvador Dali’s first drafts, Allen Ginsberg’s papers and Jack Kerouac’s path
I want to write serenades about melted ice-cream, burnt sausages…and similar tragedies
I want to be a comedic prophet with bad timing; I want to laugh at a funeral-my own funeral
I want to be a suicide note; an obituary that says, **** Condolences! I’m dead. Now, just let me be’
And although, I’m not half the things I said I wanted to be,
I’m an ancient nutshell with reinforced-concrete casing and recent cracks that show the me that I am right now,
I’m an educated, at most times mostly illiterate kind of bloke
I’m a six feet tall hormonal speck of snowflake on snow
I’m a growing ukulele, dreaming of bursting out an improvised, deafening, soul scathing Electric guitar solo, on an amp that goes up to 11!
I’m a short-tempered, soft-spoken, heavy-breathing embodiment of all I’ve wanted to be and the things I’ll never be
But right now, I am the me, that I want to be
And all the other ‘me’s would be proud if they could see me.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
we looked silly with our goggles on
splashing around in your pool
somersaults and handstands
chlorine kisses and tangled hair
summer is coming
oh yes,
summer is coming
-
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Every day is Grandparents' Day
when you sit outside and watch them run
play, kick ball, laugh and cheer
it makes it all worthwhile
their loving smiles
their joyous laughter
hoola hoops
somersaults that soon
become full handstands
and cartwheels
Have you ever watched the ball game
if not, you need to go out back
and root for your favorite team
or even kick a ball or two with them
oh, but it's worth every minute
the joys, the smiles...
they're not always the children's
but it's definitely Grandparents' Day
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
Say yes, and we could surf the highest waves,
Your hand in mine, never losing faith.
We could climb Mt. Everest, and as we gasp for air,
You'll say you love me,
And I you.
We could do handstands in the sky,
And you'll catch me when I fall.
I'll take you to the stars and leave you in utter awe.
And though standing on a comet with you is absolutely reckless,
Loving you is even more so; but I'm happily helpless.
Say yes, and some days will be not only spring,
But we will endure the harsh days winter will bring.
Together we will face somber rainy days,
But with you by my side we can wait for summer's sunny rays.
We will know what makes each other cringe,
But hey, we'll take it inch by inch.
And though some days you will be too tired to fly with me,
I will heal your broken wings.
'Cause our love will exceed that of the highest degree,
And we will take willingly what life brings.
So say yes,
And take my hand; we will learn to tango.
Every step we will master.
Source: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/say-yes
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
I want the children to stay silhouetted against the sun,
doing handstands, throwing their heads down and kicking
the cloudy, blue water.
They are silly children
with no fear of the fall and slipping shirts
that expose their human bellies.
They are spending time upside down
before the ground is lava and before they have to
check the sidewalks for cracks,
before they are tricked
into believing there is a secret underneath their feet
and they are greedy, greedy,
always looking down with limp arms and hunched shoulders.
They throw themselves over the ground
again and again. Not understanding
that their arms are too weak to keep their legs wading
against the current of gravity as
it pulses down on the Earth.
Or maybe they do know
and they are only trying to do handstands,
looking for a new perspective, a different world,
not the one they are stuck with.
They could be searching everywhere
for an alternative before they have to balance
on two feet and face the fear
that will rake in moments of their lives.
They already know that fear
but maybe trying anyways is what makes all the difference.
Perhaps everyone should go home right now
and designate handstand stations
in their living rooms,
throw open the windows,
and let the sunlight in
because it really is getting warmer
or maybe we're all just getting
used to the cold.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 4:42 AM UTC
In the bubble were hopes and dreams.
Hopscotch, handstands, Mr Whippy Ice Creams.
The freedom of playing outside on the street.
Summer holidays, bike rides and pick’n’mix sweets.
Years swept past and the bubble was still there.
Now 13 more interested in clothes and my hair.
Music and dancing; cigarettes and *****
Never thinking ahead, just running wild and loose.
BURST went the bubble is his sly hands.
A past and present stolen; a future with changed plans.
Colour and glitter fell in horizontal lines.
Out went my sparkle, off went my shine.
Much time passed as I continued to grow.
Teens and twenties a blur but in my thirties I slowed.
I remembered the bubble; I remembered his hand.
The memory knocked me down like a wave on the sand.
With love I healed and began to blow, a fresh new bubble for my mended soul.
Filled with hope and forgiveness; love and light.
Books, food, nature; spiritually taking flight.
Yet I winced when I saw him once again.
Feeling sick to my stomach, almost feint.
He plagued my thoughts and dreams for a while after.
But truth broke me free as negativity shattered.
He took a part of me forever and that I can’t forgive.
But I have to move on in order to live.
My innocence was snatched but my future is mine.
I will live it to it’s fullest; forever I will shine.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 8:36 AM UTC
you're about as
quiet as lightning
& just as much ;
you put the light in it
I'm counting down from two-thousand,
slowly
quitting breakfast and everything early
that bird can keep it like:
what am I supposed to do if I can't have you
what kind of a sudden is it breathing cause I have to \
****** the gasps I caught you stealing-
Saturday mourning on Wednesday's feelings
saying
I like Monday cause, Friday's fleeting
I own the rest of my hair, you know
you own my body
I'm as open as the screen-door you broke
& you did handstands for someone else already
otherwise I'd listen, cause
I can't find the lyrics in splitting
can't find the best in bleeding
that love was airplane-waiting
that love was
silent begging, restless leg\
restless blinking
rip the
day out my weeks baby
till all I keep lie sleeping
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC
Comments to cut in,to but in and blank empty spaces where faces should be
and what does it mean?
**** all to me.
Say what you want and do what you will
but until you have walked in my shoes,
just lose yourself in the crowd,
choose the words to use and if you can't use them wisely,don't use them,
and what are they worth?
**** all.
And if you don't say it clear,say it loud,come out from the shadows and put faces to names,
then it's all games.
A run around,a turn about to disappear into the space you seem to fear,
and me,
well
I'm not here,I'm just some
writing on a wall
worth less than ****** all,
should I care to worry or to fret?
my bet is no.
It will go on until it stops, until my ears pop and my heart implodes and my eyes end up at the end of my nose,
but then I'll see
and I'll see what it all meant to me
which is not much,
a touch of ink,a link to a site,a waiting through night 'til the morning flies in,a pain in the arse,a bit of a farce
but continue I will.
And time can do handstands or stay still, I don't really care because it's not me that's there,
I'm off on my jaunts to old places,new haunts and I couldn't give a fiddlers elbow whether you come or you decide to go,
whether you read me or not.
But
this is me
this is what I've got,
which is a *** to **** in and an ear to listen,
get used to it
or not.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
I’ll drape these stone ovals across my fragile face across from the crazy catastrophe of the conversation occurring around my consciousness – in my consciousness, cause that’s the residence of my empty pail into which all can discard their stupid say-so’s and I’ll absorb them because I have little else to do and I won’t complain and I won’t restrain myself, I won’t stifle my snide judging resentment because I need to share the poison that resides in the topmost part of my body except for when I’m laying down or doing handstands. These stone ovals allow me to see just how blind I am, just how many things I may never see may never know may never want. I’m sick of seeing the fears of others expressed with air and vocal vibrations escaping their inverse-assholes, though I fear I may succumb before too long, join their ranks, if I learn too well to fear all that which I’m around so that I'm too occupied with my surroundings, so occupied that I can’t pay attention to what I’m expelling from behind my teeth and eyes.
My wide eyes behind these thin stone ovals made of nothing but rims and scratches from times when I temporarily forgot how to walk well enough and because I’ve long-since lost my give-a-damn in the cushions of the couch I call carelessness.
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC
Arriving in a flip flop year
our minds upside down
we have been doing handstands
ever since.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
I do handstands for you
(I have to use a wall)
I do handstands for you
And you don't care at all
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
acid stains you
like the thousands of neighbors you never really knew
acid changes you
like when the window panes climb to the sky
and you never really figure out why
acid stains you
we held hands in our rubber-shared-handstands
but you never really thought through your plans
the mountains would become the sun
and we could warm our guns
we would never know
how much we'd really changed
we were puzzles in layers of nothing
but it's all got to be for something
we were tired but we never really slept
dreaming with our eyes open
wishing not to forget
the candles and kaleidoscope hopes
time lapsed trees and stars on boulevard
halls of breath and crazy drug popes
i don't really know it's all dope
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC
Hot headed demons pop out over petty problems
Screaming cry wolf blues to any closed ear
Hoping to make points of promise sing true
While the slough of insecurities doe’s handstands
On electrical-wire to prove their flip-jacked plight
Kiss the bottle to make the world spin straight
Close your eyes but it’ll all be the same
Thinly veiled faces missing disgrace wildly flail
As the spectacle of a high-top shitshow hits the stage
Crying crocodile tears as if in a macabre fanfare
Swan Lake on ice with a blade in the eye
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
Sew your ideals behind your ear and stitch your wishes above your heart
Beware you'll never get what you want
The flames will blow out before the candles even lit
Hold on my friend your speeding towards a deadend
Light always casts shadows but shadows never see the light
Choking on pride because it's to hard to swallow gets you nowhere fast
Open your lungs
Cool your flustered cheeks
If you rant till your lips are numb the things worth hearing flutter out mute
Swallow your swollen pride
For it has not a use but to bruise the inflated ego
Walking handstands on raw palms while longing for a spotlight that has been burned out for years
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
Last night's courage not to call you
last night and every;
peel off pretty, it's six it's 7,
Is something
is tired, rewind her
I can lie down, longer
she's got it, going on.
stitches and weekends
never with you on the weekend
isn't cotton
it's-red
isn't your mouth either
living up handstands
living down longing
is really
something
is lonely
in yellow
I don't want, sometimes
I still want you shouldn't you
ever want me
isn't poetry
isn't easy
on
weekdays
and every
on
blisters on
forget it
my lips on
holiday
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC
Even a dog can shake hands
as Warren elaborated so succinctly
not everyone is who they portend to be
just gain some wealth or notoriety
and you will very quickly see
now wealth isn't necessarily money
it could be simply your thought
stories for convincing so funny
thinking your mind can be bought
long lost mates from days gone past
who claim to be your friend
now a shadow you somewhat cast
caring souls appear and pretend
and whoa is me when it is time for your vote
good ole boy politicians doing handstands
now they have concern for everyone and their goat
remember even a dog can shake hands
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 7:54 AM UTC
Plumes of sacred feathers
Retired air force generals
Balancing against our wills
Handstands demand attention
Stand ***** and face the firing squad
What a load of garbage
Who are we to speak of this
You bring me to my knees
I resemble my father
And you take after me
Are we destined to swim
In uncertain territory forever
What are we aiming our minds at creating
Brands and businesses are fading
Instagram demons sweep through your basements
Bringing up subconscious lessons
From suitcases buried deep within our closets
The currency of yoga these days is spiritual bypass
As models and actresses become the norm as teachers
Robust beauties bouncing in their bedrooms
With ample bodices and bosoms all for sale
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 3:31 PM UTC