"headliner" poems
You took my words
Made them your own
Didn’t give me credit
Or even throw me a bone
The lack of ethics on full display
Front page news
The headliner today
(Make this a safe place to be
For a writer to feel free)
Plagiarism : to copy and pass off (the expression of ideas or words of another) as one's own : use (another's work) without crediting the source
From the Latin word plagiarius meaning“kidnapper”.
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 10:25 PM UTC
I remember when I was at the concert.
I could feel the tsunami of the crowd
As the headliner started.
Nothing to hear but screaming and music.
Electricity shot through the veins of all,
Some intoxicated, some not
we all feel the same musical passion.
The time of excitement was now.
Pit after pit of swarms engulf the crowd.
******* in the unexpected but willing.
But to protect a friend,
I was a fortress against the mob.
Listening to the music, the lights flashed.
and from nowhere known,
A natural weapon struck my face.
Turning around, feeling no pain,
But assured of the severity
by the river of blood I unwillingly donated.
Into the washroom, I stumbled.
Blood mixing with the nectar of life.
Outside to the medic I casually waltzed.
Swollen eyes, nose, and disappointment.
Hearing the music from outside the hall,
my heart dropped, I blew the plans of fun.
But never fear, new friends are made.
The blood stops its own current,
and memories are established.
Stories to tell in the future.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
What if the walls of your rosebud,
can read the bumps of my tastebuds,
as if they were brail,
and you discover all the lies
that it once formed into sound?
How truthful would my tastebuds feel,
if it headliner in the paper always read,
"I am changed" in the daily news?
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Stop light,
Tail light,
Brown snail on
Blue door tonight;
Strip mall,
Pocket call,
Phantom shadow
Standing tall.
That queasy diner
At Main and Piner.
“No Pain, No Gain”:
Marquee headliner.
Kids at play
In parks by day,
With darkened eve,
“Inside!” Obey.
Blackened alley,
Wet **** in Sally,
The flash of knife,
Sticky finale.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 11:59 AM UTC
there are 365 days in a year,
fact.
i have not lived many, i know that... i do
but if that statement is true,
why do the once breezy summer seconds,
ones that used to **** by trailed by excitement
now drag with heaviness and bass
that only concrete wonders could fulfill.
today i thought of you
no, i don’t know the day number, although that would’ve been clever.
conclusions have been made in my mind
distractions do equal a cure, at least what i find
does that make me twisted?
does it make me just as numb as you?
i don’t want numb
i don’t.
i want purpose,
i crave a life outside my mental restrictions which bring self pity,
i am not you.
i am my own,
i create my story
i am not just a set of pretty eyes
or chestnut tinted bangs
or maybe rosy cheeks with a personality to match.
i do not need a headliner with your name presented as the title.
i know that now.
so i will stay busy,
condolences
go ahead and take your bow.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
there was a death in the paper today
an old man was hit by a drunk
going twenty-five over the speed limit
at approximately three fifty-eight
last Saturday night
there was a picture of the old man’s
kids and grandkids and everyone looked
very sad and very touched by this
there was no word
from the drunk’s
family
this story goes good with coffee
and a bit of apple ****
I read the last bit of the story
and head out the door
last I heard,
the drunk is in custody
and cannot make bail
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
The Boy
“A superb young boy and a dismal excuse for a man,” said the pastor.
“A stupid baby, my stupid baby,” his mother wept.
“A handsome neighbor and a charming thief,” whispered Mary-Jane.
“A sheepish grin and lips fresh with duplicity,” wrote the poet.
“A savvy talker amongst witless pawns,” smirked his presence.
“I’m okay,” he lied one last time.
His absence was the last to leave, and it laughed, it laughed.
The Lie
To his mouth it was zesty sweet, like lemonade on a steaming summer’s day.
To his ears, it was funny little fact or a joke, a twisted truth.
But to his mother’s it was a headliner..
Mary-Jane’s thought it was a haunting reality..
At least until the last time they ignored his cries, declined the truth but swallowed the lies.
The Cry
On Monday they heard it all the way down the block.
On Tuesday it only reached the half-point.
On Wednesday only the neighbors heard.
On Thursday it didn’t leave the house.
On Friday it had no time to leave his mouth.
The Wolf
The wolf belched and slipped backed into the forest.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
My wounds runs deep
Steeped in time
Memories to keep
Into my prime
Testing my virtues
Taking a deep breath
Walking in my earth shoes
Feeling like ego death
I must stay focused
On what I desire
Despite this fire
Thoughts like a swarm of locusts
Time to embrace the new
That being with you
I refuse to be static
Time with you is chromatic
It's a complete headliner
With you it's all about the major and the minor
Jul 15, 2023
Jul 15, 2023 at 6:54 PM UTC
flung in the back of the '55
Chevy like another suitcase
the child knew not where they were going
only that they had been there before
more than once, when Daddy's
drink turned to anger, and anger
turned to fists pounding a boss
and another job was lost
and the child would again see
the lights of the town vanish: he, the car,
his preternaturally silent momma, his hung over
father would become part of the night
another flight, this time from Gallup
New Mexico, where Daddy had tried
to out drink every Navajo in every bar
and almost did
on these nocturnal hegiras, the child
would lie and stare at the headliner--the round
dome light a faint moon against
a mysterious sky
beams from passing cars
would roll across his otherwise
empty constellation, transforming dark
matter into fleeting nebulae
this, his wide world, while a slow
clock spun, and tires hummed, eternally,
until his father announced where they
were going this time
Iowa, a place the child
conflated with Ohio, vowel sounds
similar, soft and more meaningful than
marks on maps--Cedar something...
Cedar Rapids, and the child knew rapid
and rapid meant fast and fast meant soon, only
a few more saturnine stars around his dome
light moon, soon
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
(upon her appearance referenced
as that day's Google "doodle")
(°)
I love Google let me say the ways,
Mrs. Elizabeth Browning is today's
anniversary babe and its image or
doodle marks birthday celebrations.
Shows her in then life's sweet blaze,
afire from the love of Robert a poet
fellow, who waylaid wan and lonely
Miss Barrett of that Wimpole Street.
Poetry and passion were there both
to meet; to drier Italy the dear duet
went away, met more clement clime
but a too short time was sad Lizzie’s
fate yet in Google’s web pic. she is
looking not bad as this gal’s a dizzy
two hundred and eight, years in age;
Google I bless for they put a poetess
headliner, a shiner on the front page.
(°)
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
I love this venue
that cobble stone alley
I've found needles there before
So perfectly filthy
and the place smells
like **** ***** and sweat
And we tear it apart with every show
Me and Martin and Jake
drinking beers with one of the bands
before they went on stage
The manager came out
"What the hell are you doing?
I don't want a bunch of drunk kids in my club!
Get your ***** back inside."
Buzzing we made our way inside
God this music is loud
****** fingers shredding guitars
and rapid fire growls
like a hungry stomach
I like this?
I don't even understand it
The pit was going insane
and I was just drunk enough
were I was too
So we jumped in
punching and slamming our bodies
into complete strangers
A thirty year old man
punched me in the face
so I punched him back
and he high fived me
The crowd demanded blood
Jake was hoisted off the ground
crowd surfing a tsunami
they drunkenly neglected
that it was a bad idea
to drop into a hurricane
of stomping studded boots
But they did
and we dragged him out
blood overflowing from his mouth
we had to leave early
and missed the headliner
Jake received five stitches
and wore it like a medal
I didn't go to many shows after that
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
serious swagger weighted gait
Heavy ***** hard left side sway
Gritty sleezy slicked back style
Contagious beautiful easy smile
Stone cold **** mega rockstar status
Smooth icy cool on stage backlit
Fortunate fellows follow his fate
Perfectly posed and pleasently fake
Every inch and word portrays a studious
Headliner of untold fame
Gold lined suited Taylored and primed
the spotlight gazes for him to find
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
It’s the t-shirts on parade
and imagining that the new girl feels bad for me.
It’s that the new girl isn’t the new girl
but that she is the girl.
It’s that I wasn’t ever actually the girl
and she will never know the significance of each shirt.
It’s the feeling that I will only ever be a footnote
in the partners I’ve shared.
The feeling that I won’t ever be the headliner
only the one that came before or after.
I've got great taste in t-shirts though.
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 11:57 PM UTC