"headbanging" poems
11-6-14
I saw my name on your contacts list
and wondered how many times your finger hovered over the "call" button.
---
I hope you, or at least someone
thinks at least some things about me are cute
the way my hair sticks up and then flops over when I try to fix it
and, when pinned up, the way it becomes gradually messier over the course of the day.
When I mouth the words to a song on the school bus,
scrunching my eyes and headbanging,
or when I spin around on my heels, and try to look graceful.
---
Frick, I shouldn't try to write about love, i'm just a thirteen-year-old girl
who grew up on the internet
and doesn't care about the ****** music she's listening to.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
as i said before, the real active ingredient in cigarettes is not nicotine, nicotine is the flavoursome bit, the real active ingredient is carbon monoxide, the thing that spins your head a little on the first cigarette of the day.
oh god my nicotine hangovers
are worse than my alcohol hangovers,
i get this cough when waking
that makes schnitzel from my lungs
on the cough up (you'd think
it was tuberculosis), but recedes
once enough active ingregient in
my addiction is inhaled...
but the odd thing is...
when by odd chance i do get the classical
hangover with a headache...
my nicotine hangover is not apparent,
i don't cough...
and i cure this hangover by not
trying to think, thinking and brain
pain don't work together...
so i lie in bed, sing some rammstein
and later drink enough coffee
for the caffeine cure of increasing
blood pressure / blood flow;
or the classical hangover could be due
to the fact that i was headbanging to
sepultura's ratamahatta...
any coin flip is just as good to explain
this scenario.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
*I'm headbanging
To* NIRVANA
*I'm jumping around
To* GREEN DAY
*I Cry when I hear
The song* GUARDIAN ANGEL
*But I smile
When I hear* Your Voice...
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 2:54 PM UTC
sun rising fast
orange light gives public transportation a peculiar look
pink sky is my favorite
my short skirt
and black lipstick
his long unkept hair
and Iron Maiden tee
its nice to see another misfit on the bus
mr. metal flashes me a smile
I pretend to be occupied with my cell phone
I got a boyfriend
besides
i'm not used to flattery
mr. metal is silly
he's drumming the seats with his fingers
I pinch a black smile
don't laugh, be sensible
putting on my librarian face
glasses on the edge of my nose
sweep back stray hairs against my sensible bun
mr. metal is staring holes into me
he is amused
now I'm sulky
go back into Gatsby and Daisy
this is a bit coincidental
we are way too funny
breaks
bells
next stop
mr.metal clashes into my world
books fly
headphones are yanked
automatic door
next thing I know
i'm flailing off a bus
wonderful.
mr. metal is sorry
I dont know I'm laughing
til my sides start to hurt
grouchy morning bystanders are looking with interest
and the bus driver is surpressing a deep belly laugh
I remind him of his clumsy wife, sister, girlfriend, or daughter.
mr. metal is headbanging to my black sabbath
and picking up my books
suddenly I know
he has a very tired understanding mother
he helps me up
we're both wearing black nail polish
dont ask me why this is so hilarious
i'm stood up, brushed off, and looked at
he looks at me like an ex
he smells good
I blush far too easily
thanks are muttered
and we turn around to walk off
like a graceful plot
of some movie I've never seen
I get a text from baby
he takes such good care of me.
mr. metal will meet a cute girl he can pit with
at some heavy concert
and maybe when she's cold
he'll give her that leather jacket
and he'll ride the bus with her
all night long
thats what i'd like to think
either way
life is good.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC
i know what the problem with poetry is...
it’s like nick harper tuning the piano
or tenacious d playing the one note song...
it’s almost like
had i the grace (#d)
to fathom the craze (#d)
of each acknowledging stare (#a)
we shared: i guess i’d fare (#a)
much closer to the stardom (#b)
of what i can fathom (#b)...
lead
-ed
red
well fed...
ya ya yawn.
apart from the humanities subjecting an art via mutilating
the one original craft of spontaneity
with such excess of scalpel and anaesthetic
as “discovered” theory...
no expression of language has as many “grammatical”
words to define its learning / interpretation as poetry...
whatever verb has against pronouns to make us anonymous
by excluding a personal stance of nouns...
so has poet against verbs to make us anonymous
by excluding a metaphor personalised given the nouns.
well one note does sound “serene” giving the rhyme couplet
when in music just the same old repeat of the so called rhythm: of a church at 11pm, i.e.
poetry is ruined by rhyme... rhyme kills rhythm
of spontaneity... and i'd hate to make poetry
the ***** of predictability of £110 an hour £10 extra
for oral *** performed on her... enter the realm of rhyme
and you enter a cul de sac:
i was headbanging, unsure whether it was the music
that got me started or the echo of my head autographing
a brick wall as a way to find teeth in a woodpecker's beak.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
(Words were given to me by classmates:
A Vivid
B Incredible
C Rapid
D Blank
E Indubitably
F Over)
The sight so vivid,
the feeling is incredible.
Thumping, thrashing, moshing; rapid.
All adrenaline, minds are blank.
All will have stories to tell, indubitably.
Time stops; never ending, never over.
Guitarist flicks his pick over
our heads; strobe lights so vivid.
People injure for that pick, indubitably.
Though to catch it would be incredible.
Chaos for a piece of plastic that's blank.
The crowd's desperation; movements are rapid.
Heavy metal; headbanging rapid.
Vortex as they swing their heads over.
Some are dizzy; expressions blank.
Light reflects of swishing hair; movements are vivid.
How the band maintains the rhythm is incredible.
Long night for everyone, indubitably.
The chaos will never end, indubitably.
People still moshing, everything is rapid.
Being in the center; scary and incredible.
I hope this will never be over.
Lights flashing, making everything vivid.
Flashing and thrashing; nothing is blank.
Begin a new song, backdrop is blank.
Something awesome, indubitably.
New song starts, loud and vivid.
Musicians play more rapid.
No one wants it to be over.
Lyrics speak, it's incredible.
This night is incredible!
No thoughts form, my mind is blank.
But dreadfully, it is over.
Traffic out is awful, indubitably.
My heart is still beating so rapid.
The memories are oh, so vivid.
I wish it wasn't over, the lights were so vivid!
My energy is blank, but my mind is still rapid.
The show was incredible; I'll go again, indubitably.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
**** the sunglasses...
double ****
dinner... making my father lunch...
triple hush hush ****** third....
i might be a drunk...
(burp)
but i have my obligations;
the day doesn't begin
with or without a dosage
of sleep...
i tango with a sputnik...
what?!
you know just your random ****
sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet home
Idaho!
Ghana?
**** i misspelled Missishippi....
no,
not exactly Family Guy funny,
but you know,
you spend a night with two Germans
tripping on mushrooms,
watching American dad...
with an Egyptian drinking *****
all quest-west in Amsterdam...
and you're not seeking the company
of a Puerto Rican hubbly-n-bubbly...
touch of flesh...
the night must be pretty entertaining...
so that's what you call exfoliating
when given into excess...
... .... .... (the excess pause)...
and then shhhhhhhhhhhhhh
in a makeshift metaphysical library...
literary... yes... (burp)... literate...
the sunglasses are working
just fine...
the sun isn't...
why do i always sit through the vanilla
sky of a sunset, why?!
hush darling...
Shakie Shtevens is going
to tell you all about what gives him
the Shakes...
shakes? if you drink... hot sweats...
one minor posit of a subverted
hangover...
a slap, a punch, a slap
once more, oh look, i'm found and bound
to sober;
getting drunk,
and then returning to the leash:
well...
covert for: a pristine afternoon.
p.s.
quasi-headbanging to a meat-head
tune...
yeah.... Slipknot... what?!
no.... MC Hammer!
i'm touching jack-shit...
look at me...
touching... clapping using jazz hands.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
Instead of door slamming,
Listen to heavy metal music,
And engage in headbanging.
Instead of giving into violence,
Listen to the sounds of violins,
And practise non-violence.
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 2:43 AM UTC
whether we are playing the game wrong
or playing the wrong game
does it matter when the result is always the same?
whats that saying about outcomes always being the same?
being insane?
what would I know
there I go
talking to the wall again
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
New years eve, could be ******
You see I wanted to go to a new years eve party
Back in the year 1995, I wanted to celebrate the good old year
Where Carlton won the flag, I booked in to go to the Wests Rugby Club party
And, I was looking forward to it, yeah I was a real smartie
I started the night having dinner with my folks, and after dinner
When the doors opened, I went into the room
Where they had the new years party with the cool band who was called Electro
And we all danced to songs like Rubber Ball, Leroy Brown, Teddy Bear and the Bohemian Rhapsody, yes we all had so much fun
They played so many other songs, and yeah I was certainly getting down, yeah
Then they played some AC/DC tunes like highway to hell, you shook me all night long and TNT, those songs were cool and I practiced my headbanging to those songs, yes it was totally cool, dudes, and after about 1 hour he started playing party music
Like Ice ice baby and achy Breaky heart, I want you back and a Cold Chisel song, Flane trees, yes I loved them, and after that,yes there were songs like
Runaround sue and when midnight hit we played prince's 1999, but we said 1995, yes we had fun that night, you know partying to every song
And chatting up every chick, and also really letting our hair down low
And after it was over some people got worried that I was alone o. New years eve
And then I won a bottle of champagne and one man wanted to **** me
Yes, I know what he was saying, I ain't a mallakka, I have to lay low
For a while, and only go out to fun events, for families
And yes, I am still happy, cause I had a cool night
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
We’re out front of my house,
In the front seat of your car,
It kind of stinks in here but it smells like you
So, I don’t mind
You turn on some music
And we laugh because it’s the dodgiest track
The radio screams
My heart flutters
Heavy metal bought my love
We don’t have long hair but we’re headbanging anyway
I’m giddy from my toes to the tip of my nose
People say you’re bit of an *******
**** I’m one of them who says that
But I don’t care
My friend don’t like you
My parents adore you
Marry the boy, you marry his family
I can’t help but think it’s love
When the thought of you
Comforts me even when my best friend ain’t there
And she hasn’t been there for yonks
But what we’ve got is hard as rocks
Cloudy afternoon in a rural little street
Should’ve told you then
Better a rejection than a what-if
But I didn’t speak my mind
Only let you tease me
I wonder what could’ve happened
If I had had the courage
To take my word upon my tongue
And press it onto your mouth
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
death metal screeches in the background,
heart pounding,
headbanging ,
but your face is what I see.
your soul layed upon me.
daydreaming over what came to pass
and what shall be.
what shall become of you and I
endless memories flying by
truth be told, without "we" there is no me
no me to feel happy
no me to be free
your face is all I see.
so many things to be glad for
none of these compare to thee
your shining soul
belongs to me
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
He said, "if the girlies don't work out"
To come back here
And get **** faced
And maybe watch some bad movies
Like Predator 2
Past security, ticket given without a second glance
It could've been any old white piece of paper
But he didn't check.
Why wouldn't he check?
Inside are the real predators
The real commodifiers
Who stalk prey called women
Look at the way they look at you
Do you notice the way they look at you?
Or is it like breathing air, or a fish in water
And do you buy into the predator's worldview?
What do you really see when you look at the self?
Only what others see, perhaps?
I understand that
In the car, on the ride here
He said, "I'm looking for something special"
"I don't **** and get out"
But definitely don't stop calling them *******
The culture says who they are,
Rather, the culture says what they are
You are complicit in the culture
Just like me
A stoic face toward oppressors
Is still complacent
A face that prides itself on not objectifying women
Yet lays silent in their objectification,
Isn't he just the problem?
Aren't I that problem?
And the songs that are as unspecial as the ***
You purport to not want
Boom louder than your heartbeat
That you can't tell if it's the bass or the blood
Pulsing through your veins
How do you know what you want isn't real?
Are you oblivious to the remake, the unoriginality?
Like the songs stolen without rights,
You adopt your predecessors' predatory propensities
It's all ********
That's what our glasses are full with.
The Irish drink to connect
We drink to waste away
The same way we do when we sit
And become one with our couch
At the heart of the Ire-land
Is a history of conflict
And inability to have conflict,
Also known as: war
So they sit and they drink
And they talk and they fight
And they all have bad livers
But their hearts aren't clogged.
But back in the club, there's a one size fits all video
Playing over the one size fits all songs
Catered to the one size fits all people
And our one size fits all pallets
In the blur of the headbanging and the deafening
We lose our precious individuality
But maybe I'm acting too pious to judge as I do
But, if you were in my shoes, wouldn't you?
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 8:09 PM UTC
.when sounds replicate strobe-light effects of a discotheque; ending up looking -esque: till ledemann.
madman:
every time i listen to
some static-x,
i turn into a complete
meat-head,
headbanging after
******* into the throne
of thrones...
eh?
marvel universe,
and the current
movies?
i left the whole party
with the x-men
movies...
apocalypse
was always my
ultimate
villian
anti-thanos...
the whole
nordic theology
inclusion...
n'ah...
left that ********
with logan
and...
that antithesis
of Elvis
cover
of a nine inch nails'
song.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
Punk kids, instead of having choreography or jumping up and down with hands in the air,
Punk kids knock, bounce and rattle against each other like broken glass in a bag or pin ***** in the most complicated machine,
I hate loud noise but I love loud music as long as I have my headphones
Back and forth, headbanging until the noise from our heads comes out those ringing ears
Nervous tics to music
Stress made into a party
Rocking out, rocking ourselves forward and back
Just like I do when I'm overwhelmed
Catching or reaching a hand to anyone who knocks themself down
Loose limbs and heads slack
Hands and feet across the crowd are literally twitching,
It's a monster mash looking, skeleton disco.
Some kids look possessed but they're okay with that
No one's worst demons can get in because the venue's at full capacity,
The window-watchers chase any evil spirits into the snow,
Fear and worry leave for one set because they can't stand the racket,
The rest of the day got lost in all the cables and pedals,
I bounce against kids in chains and band t shirts,
Hardly need to use my eyes,
My shoes are covered in Doc Marten footprints and people shove me and I shove them right back and I don't need to say anything in the huge mess that is the mosh pit
The room is full of people moving like zombies on a sugar high whose brains are being eaten by the music,
For a while, we let that happen.
When the final set ends
My neck and feet are sore like the speakers and amps were a workout you can buy from Guitar Center,
Headbanging is my favorite kind of cardio,
And moshing is my favorite catharsis.
The silence is everywhere as the punks exit the Scene.
I hardly know any of these people by name.
But we just performed one strange, scene kid dance
For the night to watch
When I go to bed my legs spasm
I think because
they are still dancing
Mar 26, 2022
Mar 26, 2022 at 12:16 AM UTC