"headlining" poems
The mystery deepens with slow steps
down the drive to that green mystery box
that holds the secrets of the universe within its grasp.
Besides the bills that need attention
invitations to church services
'fresh cuts' from butcher going down
products the clothing store discounts
power bills powering me up
water bills wetting me down
local rags headlining unknown street corners
filled with rage and graffiti
police searching for crims
(not on my street-No)
preachers discounting heaven for a tithe
car license rebirth
warrant remake
local school financial support
what else is new?
I've recently installed another box next
standing beside green box
flip all of the above next box
for recycling.
I only keep the one
which says in small print
No ******* collections on Labour Day.
Author Notes
Do you have the same problem and solution
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 5 months ago
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
I've got that anxiety man,
Faces all around me seem to sag and frown.
Preacher man tells me to look at the sky not ground.
But I want to give the bugs the curusty of eye contact as I walk over them.
Why is their life so simple and mine so unsure?
Bet bugs don't even love they just **** and crawl on.
**** man, I hate all these eyes.
Tip toeing after me like the headlining band.
Not waiting to begin ************ as I head on my way in.
All the clocks say ten but the sun screams it's dawn.
Why aren't I in ******* bed right now...
Can someone shut that bird up!?
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
The ticket stall is empty
Sunlight bounces off the pavement
And reflects off the double doors
There are no posters in the frames
In my town
Most places are too cold for pretend
Against the white
In thick black letters
The headlining show
“Theater Closed Broiler Broken”
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
To awake rested, yawn and
get up on the
completely right side
of the bed.
a full, healthy breakfast,
quality coffee.
good news headlining
the paper.
the smell of a bathroom after
a woman has spent time
getting ready for a
night out.
words of kindness from a friend.
such things I adore.
...but I love
poetry more.
a fully comprehensible manual.
a love letter post-it note,
or a book on something
hysterically interesting,
like psychology or history.
music of the kind that you welcome
sticking to your mind for a
whole day.
these things make my day for sure.
...but I love
poetry more.
her hands on me, warm with
sleep as she reaches over and
sighs between dreams.
yes. he's still here...
waking up with her hair in
my face, falling asleep on the
sofa with my head on her legs
the way a dog warms its owner's
feet with itself while resting.
not feeling like myself when
she's further away than the
next room.
hard to not shake
when she cries.
impossible not to laugh when
she laughs,
and to not want her
when she
wants me
to.
**** it's plain to see.
...I love her
more than poetry...
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
I wish every day would last forever,
like they seem to in the summer.
With nothing to do
but dwell in your thoughts
and bask in loneliness.
Human contact is annoyingly necessary
and sometimes
I wish I could escape it.
I'd like to be alone,
away from judgements,
just me and my thoughts.
Just me and my wants, hopes, dreams, desires,
sifting and floating in my eyes
and in my mind.
I see them quite clearly now,
only the thin fog of time clouds my view,
making them seem like an illusion.
Why do I wish for the future
with such anxiety
and at the same time,
long for the past?
Everything is temporary.
That thought has been headlining
every corner of my ideas
and hopefulness.
Everything is temporary,
everything is an illusion
just waiting to dissolve into the past
wanting me to miss it
and yearn for it back.
Everything ends the same.
Why worry about a broken window
a ripped page,
a battered heart,
when everything will end up fixed,
or in the trash,
or healed and scarred over.
Everything ends up in the past
and the things you once looked forward to
with such fear and excitement
become irrelevant.
If material possessions aren't important,
then what is?
Possessions are all we have.
We possess cars, computers, phones, clothes,
books, money,
knowledge.
Everything we know, feel, do,
are revolved around what we possess.
What more is there?
Even love is a possession.
You hold it, you keep it,
you cherish it,
and it's painful to part with it.
Everything in life is temporary,
nothing can cause joy
without eventually
causing pain.
Nothing gold can stay.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
Is this worth it?
To me, yes.
But who am I kidding myself?
The ball's in your court.
It always has been,
An I'm sitting on the bench dying for a chance to take control.
Do you know that I can't leave?
Even if I try?
Because for some odd reason
All I want is you.
All I need you.
Yeah, only you.
Never been one to be alone, but here I am,
Just myself for months,
Passing through the weeks just to make it to the days when I can see you.
Take a look at these words.
All about you.
You.
You.
You.
At least on the surface.
Could be some ****** metaphor to describe how self-interested I am, for so strongly desiring you.
Just so **** frustrating,
But momma always told me "life isn't fair",
And with all the stories of **** and child abuse and natural disasters headlining the papers, I know she's so right.
It's not that God enjoys taking a **** on His creations,
But let me ask you this.
Can pleasure come without pain?
No.
A ****** screams before she sighs.
A mother bears pain to birth her baby.
And if I didn't have to work so hard for you, would it be worth it?
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
I still share stories of us...
to strangers, and to people that never knew you.
I paint a lovely picture of those memories and my tool is the knife you left stabbed in my back, right between my shoulder blades.
The blood has this thickness that helps portray this realness that
is unlike any other medium once it's delicately laid upon a canvas.
I've passed your apartment stoop, hoping you'd be sitting there with a stale beer and a cheap menthol drag dangling from your two fingers.
Even though it's never you sitting there, the same stench of *** and
the aroma of Svedka still drifts around the humid city air.
It causes a whirlwind of emptiness in my head and I'm never
able to clear my thoughts of you completely.
When I look up at night and see the millions of stars making their headlining appearances in the dark, I always wonder if we'll ever be
discovering the exact same one like we found each others hearts.
But then I remember, just like losing sight of a star in the sky, we lost each others hearts and you chose to never try searching for mine again.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
Headlining monsters smiling at
News cameras; lacks of
Regret framed with
Blitzes and the
Disgusted attention
Of normal people.
Parents making each other's
Tears their own in
Disbelief, as children in
Hidden rooms
Search for the soft comfort of
Their inner
Teddy bears while pointing at
Dolls in the hands of
Patient professionals.
*There? OK. And...
There?* Caring strokes on
Innocent hair.
*You're doing fine,
Darling.* A wounded
Feather finally rested in a
Nest lap. *You're
Doing just
Fine.*
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
Don't read, this is a waste of your time
Rotting
does this associate food
this could pertain to my ill thought mind
I would consider rotting an equivalent to life
giving a definition to what we are all doing
something that begins quite small
and ends up quite ambiguous
Since involving all sorts of life, then food is associated
Like all food
Some begin to rot so much sooner than others
some decay at a rate much faster
if we were to consider them synonyms: decaying and dying
then we could all die at different rates
not physically, but also emotionally
maybe our insides are meant to turn to mush
and maybe some aren't in such a rush
sometimes I think I'm something that's already expired
something that is never desired
one of such simplicity
I could never create
gaining goals and headlining shows
I will believe that maybe some reach their end much sooner
others will live for hundreds
where others will live to none
Sometimes the goal is not one to reach for
it's one that all must let happen
simply and respectfully
I am rotten
the only difference
some can comeback...
You shouldn't have read this
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
We write our visions in superscript
Headlining the ordinary with extra
Harvesting mystery from the visible
Coating assumptions with doubt
We live in the world of potentials
Loosed by the origin of shadows
From the trembling of the earth
We weave our melodies
Cracking the doors in the framework
Letting the universe breathe
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
Polypolarity
The glorious venom of transformation partitions the (death of) excitement in her eyes. The lies in her vinegar voice tether a shopworn tale
Aimless, then sweet, cold and now caustic, forever formless, a feint felt on a whisper:::
“**Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you the eighth wonder of the world!!!... headlining the one and only Heuretic Houdini
pinning her down
only works in the bedroom**”
She did not know who she was (so how could I) It was her greatest strength, something to be pitied and pined for ::: perpetually ephemeral,
the eternal curse.
**Polypolarity dead eyed at a wedding
Polypolarity on a cold street in Blue
Polypolarity spoke two "I love you's"
Polypolarity never knowing what's true**..
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
The glorious venom of transformation partitions the (death of) excitement in her eyes. The lies in her vinegar voice tether ancient chains to a shopworn tale.
She is seamless, then sweet, cold and now caustic; forever formless, a feint felt on a whisper:::
The unending unknowable, my perfect pathogen... I loved to watch her work a room
“**Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you the eighth wonder of the world!!!... headlining, the one, the only, heuristic Houdini...
pinning her down
only works in the bedroom!!!**”
She did not know who she was (so how could I) It was her greatest strength, something to be pitied and pined for ::: perpetually ephemeral,
the eternal curse.
**Polypolarity dead eyed at a wedding
Polypolarity on a cold street in blue
Polypolarity spoke two "I love you's"
Polypolarity never knowing what's true**..
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 7:01 PM UTC
I used to want to be a DJ until I met one.
I used to want to be a DJ until he left my ears ringing with all the things I had done wrong like cymbals in my face.
I used to want to be a DJ because they looked like they were finger painting music on vinyl,
but the one I knew dug knuckles into my tissue-paper chest and called it his job.
I thought a DJ's job was to make art.
I used to want to be a DJ until I learned they etch their fingerprints into your record and forget (refuse?) to wipe them off.
I had his vinyls propped up against my wall. I wanted to rip his name off all of them.
I used to want to be a DJ until I sat in his office listening to the lies he put in his lyrics.
I wanted to find the console and turn the audio down, but instead I looked for him to console me.
I wanted him to sympathize but that too would have been synthesized.
I used to want to be a DJ until I learned they amplify your weaknesses and loop them, loop them, loop them.
I wanted to fade to the background but 'if you ain't redlining, you ain't headlining,'
and I was redlining, I was redlining, I was redlining-
looped and scratched and mixed until I was my very own single,
alone.
my tears the only streaming platform that he could not control.
I used to want to be a DJ until he shut me in my own dead air.
he had other records to make and other albums to fill.
I never did learn what he labeled me.
Aug 1, 2024
Aug 1, 2024 at 10:41 AM UTC
europe and mathematics simple explained 17.06.18
around this will be fuss
poetry and mathematics will intertwine
zero ability to understand is the plus
won't be leaving no european shrine.
we do have to pay continuously
this will effect the way you feel
the figures and amount changing ridiculously
a sour feeling from sweet heart deal.
20 billion is headlining
600 million a week
my cut is 70 percent no underlining
the cost of poetry is bleak.
going to display all sums
buss es will clearly explain
highgate to kentish slums
not highlighting daddy got here on the gravy train.
are you awaiting equation
got to bring you some sadness
its as clear as the poetry invasion
all figures and savings are pure madness.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
Spy in the white house
Russia's holding the coop
Trump and the Marxists
Headlining the duck soup.
its now called the red house
America has been *******
Now for the night of the long knives
We're thee opposition get bumped,
Blonde boy wonder trumping American Dreams
Red stars on the flag as daft as it seams
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 5:18 AM UTC