"headphone" poems
You have one headphone in the left,
the radio in the right
as a stranger drives measures in clefts of night.
Kiss him how your feet kiss sand or
a soloist breaks off from the band
until the pianist beckons him back,
tuning deft fingers to a single track.
Open your ears to sound’s wordless talk,
beats in a measure a half-step off.
Blue’s lips tactless, ******* you down,
Blue’s lips fastening ankles to ground.
Then sudden and brace;
a rock in the road,
an anchor thrown
as you're caught between verses and words you don’t know.
Then sudden, the break;
pianist's mistake.
Notes shift under toe as the ocean lets go.
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
A little oasis occupied in a cafe
that approaches capacity.
Three opposite, two adjacent,
a couple at the windows to the right.
Six or seven more around the corner, out of view
Early twenties guy, has a slightly too-small zippered sweater,
with head down and a two-handed hold on his phone
the left relinquishes its grip for a minute to wipe across his face.
Late fifties man in a blue,zipped, baggy, sweat shirt
and early-nineties hair gone grey.
A phone too, but of a more palm-and-fingertip interaction
with pursed lips and an occasional surveying of the room.
A quiet girl at my right leaves and four chatty middle-aged yoga ladies
squeeze onto the table for two.
They obliterate my concentration
and I resort to a cocoon of headphone noise.
Their too-strong perfume forms a veritable blue cloud
and leaks into the taste of my tea.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
I pulsate
Fixate
On the nodding beat
Thats taking over your mind.
I feel you hanging on
To the last note that fades
Away from my grip.
I create
Animate
The vibrant scene behind your closed eyes
The million goosebumps
Riding up your arms
The silent shiver
Down your spine.
I emanate
Accentuate
The singing of strings
As your hesitant voice joins
In a burst of exuberance.
And now you pull me down hurriedly
Glancing back at the weird looks around you.
From my vantage point around your neck
I chuckle internally
And welcome the peaceful silence.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
I was pulling up in the car park at the Immigration Removal Centre
When I realised that I'd completely f 'ed up
Having remembered:
- portable recording studio
- condensor microphones x 2 (one of them doesn't work, dunno which one, they look the same)
- dynamic microphone (sometimes works)
- XLR cables x 2 (in a tangled mess)
- Jack cables x 2 (joining the party)
- headphones
- headphone splitter (a remedy for people who are always on their phone?!)
- big-to-little adapters
- kettle lead (so named because it dates back from when the kettle was king)
- guitar
- and two folders of important bits of paper (well, at least some of it might be important)
I suddenly realised that I'd forgotten the only genuinely essential thing.
My passport.
You can't get in without your passport.
That's the rule and the rules don't bend.
Security is paramount.
I find my colleague, Lucky, sitting in his car.
Lucky: "Kev, you aren't gonna believe this but..."
He didn't need to say anymore.
I knew that he had done the same thing.
Lucky and I were in the same *** of s***.
But for some reason they made an exception.
We were lucky.
It must had rubbed off.
(true story)
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC
Somewhere out in another universe,
I'm 12 years old
and I'm sitting on my bed listening to something through
a hopelessly tangled white headphone string,
flipping through the dog-eared pages
of my favorite book while everyone is sleeping.
The sticky, syrupy air of summer floats through an open window
and nothing bad has happened to me,
no scalding words or hot fingers
etching their prints into my skin.
I haven't menstruated or fallen in love or yet shrunk myself down
or any of the things that made me a woman.
I am warm in my white tank top
and the blue satin shorts with the printed clouds
wondering about trips to the beach
and sticker placements on my new notebook from Borders.
And I hope she's always able to stay like this,
that she never knows of the kinds of stains
that won't wash out of her white tank top.
And that every once in a while,
I might just catch a second of her laughing
from the room next door.
Mar 28, 2023
Mar 28, 2023 at 12:56 PM UTC
Headphone to head
Music to Soul
Fills me up with a surge of compelling sensation
Musics a museum of emotion
A colosseum of expression
Taken back by its beauty,
It's a gallery of a never ending selection
Used to suppress the oppression
To repair the ones that can't bare
Music is a medicine that doesn't need to be prescribed
Side effects may cause healed hearts and better judgement
Music is fabulous
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
I missed you today.
At the coffee shop.
On the bus.
In my chair at the office.
I wanted to say
Yes I’m feeling on top.
There’s a seat here for both of us.
Doing well, uh oh, here come the bosses.
I sat there all day.
I looked up every minute.
Stirred hands across the keyboard
I wanted to be in it,
Involved in this life and the people
And plans.
But all I do is keep tight lipped
With tremors for hands.
Spider webs for brains
And an undisciplined bladder.
And when I get up to go, it didn’t seem
To matter.
We say fake goodbyes
And look down at our shoes
As if clues to these blues would just
Jump out in twos.
But not even two, not even one.
There are no clues
It’s in front of our faces.
The glow of a screen
Humanity erases.
I missed you today, at all of those places.
Because every single stranger had buried
Their faces.
Not one smile or hello or greeting.
And this is now how people are meeting.
You don’t know I’m having a rough time.
I could speak up.
but I see your headphone lines.
Eyes fixed ears shut.
I just wanted someone
To acknowledge me a short while.
But we’re so disconnected,
I can’t even get a smile.
~kb
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
there was an indignant smudge
in the lower left corner unsettled
loftiness inside the message you sent
dripping with a misled shadow
breathing out suspended charcoal
you didn't notice
I sat in my room in disarray
headphone music spilling sideways
over the sides of the counter
dripping with a misled reason
breathing out a suspended sigh
you didn't notice
tomorrow I'll be gone
I don't want you to miss me
you'll be further than before
dripping with a misled mystery
breathing out your own
suspended question mark
I won't notice
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
I walk in the call center
wearing my headphone gear
With sweaty palms and nervous voice,
I ask myself what am I doing here?
I trip over a chair in a cramped work space
Soon a customer will be yelling in my ear
A call center is a revolving door
As easy as it was to get hired,
it's just as easy to get fired
A lady whispered in my ear,
you need to quit this job, my dear
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
Her ruffled hair and trailing headphone
she stands amongst the seated
perhaps impervious to inconvenience.
Her momentary gaze out of the darkened window
sheds her personality
she meet life on an even keel
thoughtful
honest and assured over
never intending to surrender her
next stop Battersea Park.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
Which came first; A.D.D./A.D.H.D.,
or a subconscious unwillingness or perhaps even inability
to give half a genuine **** about anything going on?
I believe social, media, technological, and habitual programming
are at least some of the antecedents to these Modern chemical scapegoats:
Bureaupharmipseudocures, baby!
Causing more problems
justifying more Pharms
making some people rich
depriving and inuring the rest
almost as if depicted in
BRAVE NEW WORLD
Beloved, distracting, ubiquitous Handheld Devices
with cameras, speakers, headphone jacks and microphones
which, at any given moment,
can just as easily be used by you
as be used by Big Brother to keep tabs on you
through GPS, recorded sound and video, transferred and stored data, and company records
almost as if depicted in
1984
"HOLY ******* ****
I practically hope you're saying
(ideally, this is old news)
"FOLLOW THE MONEY."
I hope you're realizing.
IT ISN'T THAT HARD, FOR NOW,
THANKS TO THE INTERNET.
Without the internet being a public, secular (in terms of politics) entity,
it would be neigh impossible to follow the money
without extensive efforts made by very brave and hopefully cunning *************
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
No feeling can compare
Nothing between besides air
Friendless colors drift around
Designed to be heavenbound
In a world of one's own
Clear ears for a headphone
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 7:14 PM UTC
The same brief touch
happened everyday.
The bell echoed through every sleepy-student-filled class
right when pupils had given up on their class work for the day.
Headphone filled ears and sluggish bodies
no longer scattered in the halls
they clung to the same black top.
And two people, always so in-sync, were headed for the same destination
the other's hand.
The younger girl,
black shirt and black pants,
stood beside her curly haired friend as the two strolled,
occupied in conversation.
The older girl,
a little more color yet still draped in black,
clung to a childish boy and stared at the gravel
before it sunk beneath her feet.
They had separate ways to go.
Both their bodies slid to opposites sides,
just at the glance of the other's feet.
One hand no longer occupied with a phone
or the strap of a backpack.
Fingers spread slightly for the pieces of the puzzle
to fit just right.
Smirks.
Light, unnoticeable smirks pulling at pale lips.
Their fingers collided with grace,
eyes never leaving what they were initially watching,
and their bodies leaving a gap of at least a few inches.
A thumb, belonging to the younger girl, rubs against an index finger.
The finger doesn't feel foreign.
It sends surges of lust through the girl's mind,
fogging up every thought other than the one's that included
the fingers she was wrapped in.
It ends as quick as it began.
Fingers stretch as far as they can
until there is no physical way to still be touching.
They keep going.
No stopping.
No turning to give the other one
a last glance of the day.
The touch lingers.
The thoughts continue to blur.
And the smirks become wide smiles,
curling up to temples.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Jay-Z sounds like he's underwater. And the showerhoses tilt shut and the bathroom door opens to reveal - well, what I thought was a sealing wound thankfully turned out to be headphone covers and my brother's obscured big toe. Trembling.
He walks as if he was the rapper himself - chest hunched, back lurching forward like that of a street cat who doesn't know he's made it. Shaky feet, wet hair, darkened eyes that hadn't been shut for days.
''For my father was black, and beautiful, and beautiful, therefore, black. There was a blackness to him that was beautiful. A blackness entirely clear and his own.'' -James Baldwin, Notes on a Native Son (paraphrased).
His legs if you roll up the pajama bottoms are filled with quilt patched mosquito bites and blacks and blues. Self-inflicted. Eyebag patches punched back into his face resurfacing in the hidden contours of his thigh. Trembling. Allow me to reintroduce myself. Trembling.
He is and he isn't. No native son of ours black but yellow covered, yellow but eyes tinged with red, and awash in shadows black and blue - he is beautiful - puffy eyed, brickfaced boombox carrying screamer of profanity and tongue tied silence all and still - he is black, and he is beautiful.
An underwater mixtape taking shape to be a broken record anthem.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
I wish you'd understand how
deep this truth runs
maybe then you'd open your
heart
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
i see Charles Mingus crying like cool jazz.
i see Lauren's head in my lap.
i see The Stranger spin on the turntable.
i see a broken night.
i see haze high near the ceiling.
i see headphone cords, whose ends hurt my ears.
i see the same chord progressions driving me mad.
i see love fading in a passerby's eyes.
i see chapped lips.
i see my debit card, i run it as credit.
i see the 10 foot tall stack of paperwork on my desk.
i see my know-it-all confidence.
I see my god complex.
I see your god complex, and know mine is greater.
i see *** smell it, hear it, taste it, feel it, want it.
i see cars stampeding towards me down the hill.
i see neon signs for strip clubs.
i see prophetic signs, i ignore them.
i see my professor's approval.
i see computer screens.
i see my finger reject the call from a former fling.
i see ****** music.
i see sad faces, day after day.
i see my mind disconnected from my body.
i see boys in fraternities.
i see girls in barely anything at all.
i see my roommates and i yell for no reason--- we laugh.
i see society coming to eat me alive.
i see when i trip.
i see when i get up.
i see when i don't.
i see when i let my friends down.
i see when i pick them up.
i see my eyes closed.
i don't see what they want from me.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
There has always been my family...
And My Family.
Day 1
I was born.
This girl was born to her parents not knowing anything. Living her life through school and music with her sisters and little brother, this is her life.
This is her family.
This is my family.
9th Grade
I meet a girl, and she is the definition of deafening headphone music and larger than life punk rock music. These types of instantaneous connections are too strong to ignore.
I knew right away, we would be friends.
She introduces me to her friends and I find myself in a group hug of my new friends, people who decided to accept me.
This is her family.
This is my family.
10th Grade
The same girl is my closest friend. But I am not her closest friend. I feel her pull away to be somebody else, and that is okay. I will often run to her crying and sad and she will do her best to pick me up. And she does.
The friend group we have is more like home than the house I sleep in. I forget about my parents and find comfort in the arms of my friends.
I feel conflicted about which family means more to me.
I tell her, "I know blood is thicker than water."
She tells me, "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."
...I have never heard that before.
Is this her way of saying that we are more family than anything?
Maybe we are.
Or maybe we were.
We walk together knowing that we are never giving up on each other.
This is her family.
This is my family.
11th Grade
I meet another girl. A friend of a friend. Jealousy builds. Attention is a fight nobody wants to lose, I have become the 3rd party nobody asked for.
Families are supposed to fight. But now my family is not one that will fight for our happiness back.
But I want to.
I always have.
But I cannot fix this because I am not the only person involved.
Why are we fighting?!
Day X
I wish I could take back my mistakes.
One friend describes her life connected to 4 people... one of which is no longer talking to her.
And that one friend is also part of my family. And if losing 1 of 4 people you love is a tragedy, than for me...
It is losing 1 out of the 2 people I have left.
The two people I care for most will not talk to each other. And I am the biggest mediator the world never needed. But I cannot let go of either of the two people I love and care about.
I initiated the disaster. I started the dominoes. And I will pay for it.
I have to.
Nobody expected this catastrophe to affect me, or her, or the boyfriend, or the girlfriend, or the best friend, or the lost friend...
The victim
The aggressor
The manipulator
The cryer
The coward
Me
I cannot fix this with my own two hands.
I look at the two people I care for most.
They will not talk to each other.
And to a point, it is my fault.
I look at them.
We all had to suffer and bleed for this covenant of friendship and family.
This is their family.
This is my family.
This was my family.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
And apart from my camera,
I also carry our interminable conversations
which I will take out every now and then
to amuse myself and smile alone
while walking down the subway
and thinking of you.
I also carry the scenes of the movies we have watched
and your favourite quote of Robin Williams
and the sound of your guitar strings
traversing the chord of my headphone
as you play a song at 4 o'clock in the morning.
And sang Lucy in the sky with diamonds.
But above all, there are so much more ahead of this
than the stretch of this long, endless road.
All our dreams lay ahead
and plans and all our years.
And those moments of us evaporating in the afternoon delight
or evening sanctuary.
White. Green. Crisp yellow. And burning orange.
So I will embark on a journey.
And I will carry all these with me.
And all these,
all these are certainly heavier
than the backpack on my shoulder.
But I will bring them anyway,
believe in them,
love them
and never let them go.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
She grabbed my hand, and pulled me to the dance floor,
And I thought, **** I should hold onto these hands more.
So I did my best to impress her,
Palms sweaty from the pressure,
But I wiped them off, on the dry of my pants,
And reached over, to try for her hands.
Success! We rearranged our fingers until they were laced,
And my kind of dry palms finally felt her embrace.
So they began to sweat again from excitement and being hot,
And though Lost was on TV, I was hearing little and seeing not,
For my entire focus was on our hands clasped by my side,
And how at first I was so nervous, I nearly collapsed when I tried,
But now that are hands are together, nothing could go wrong,
And now are hands are together, as I had hoped for so long.
And I realized,
Her hands are like hot chocolate when the weather is cold,
There’s nothing more in this world, that is better to hold.
And you really start thinking, how they get all this in a mug,
And I can feel my heart sinking, because now I get a kiss and a hug.
But I still feel at ease when I’m holding on to her hand,
And so I was wondering please, could I hold on to your hand,
When we sit on my bed, play cards and just talk,
When all morning I’ve read, and I need to just walk,
When we drive circles in the city, and walk the same streets,
When we each get one headphone, and rock the same beats,
When I see you smile, and my heart power starts and can’t stop,
When I start to smile, thinking about flower parks and those **** cops,
When I walk you back to your room, but I wished you could stay,
When next time your back in my room, and I’ll kiss you all day.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I really like these and all,
But the best in when you hold my hand, for no reason at all.
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 3:41 PM UTC
One headphone in.
Hum and sing.
Tilt head back-breathe in air.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Breathe.
Change song-
Reach for bag.
Don’t shake.
Be strong.
Yeah, right.
Tears falling-flow-
Stop.
Wipe them away.
Freeze.
Door opens.
*Stop crying, god ******
“M_____?”
Fingers tremble.
You’re pathetic.
“Need help?”
Shake head.
Yes.
“…Let me open the window for you.”
Blink.
Sit down.
Chair creaks.
“Must be boring being stuck in the hospital for so long.”
Force smile.
“I would be bored to death if it were me.”
Awkward laugh.
What the hell do you know?
“So..I brought some flowers.”
Shrug.
Thank you.
Look around.
“Wow..this room reminds me of-“
Stop talking.
“One day, you and me will-“
I don’t care anymore.
“Hey-“
LEAVE ME ALONE!
“You know, I had this dream last night-“
So did I.
“I dreamed-“
What would my eternity be?
“You and me together-“
Is that it?
Sigh.
Lean back in chair.
“You know, people said that pain made you stronger.”
Close eyes.
Don’t react.
“What do you think?”
No.
“Why?”
*…Who the hell says that pain makes you stronger? Pain will **** you, consume you, spit you out until there’s nothing left but ashes. That’s just a piece of *******
“Don’t look so sad.”
Scoff.
“There are people out there who really love you.”
Lies.
“…If you want to cry, go ahead and cry.”
Silence.
Silvery wetness at the eyes-
Why are you crying?
“It- it- I can’t stand that- that-“
Sniffle.
“You’re holding all your pain in-
you can’t-
can’t let it go at all....."
Gasp.
"That’s why-
If you don’t cry-
I’ll cry in your place.
I’ll cry for you!”
Soft smile.
Idiot. I’m crying too.
“I’ll cry-“
For you.
But..don’t you think that a smile is a more beautiful expression?
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
I'm pacing the dusk dark
Of my backyard,
Feet sinking in the
Winter-softened ground.
One headphone in,
Singing to me of summers
I never experienced,
Ignoring the sirens
The next street over;
Stanching the fire,
Calming the blaze.
I glare at the blossom-less
Magnolia tree;
The absence of the flowers
Screams yours too loud
In the forced quiet.
Strip me from your branches
Like winds ripping
Away
The rotting white petals
Clinging to life.
Does my scent cling,
To your clothes,
Your skin,
Your lips?
Or does it leave,
Rippling off you
In
Curling
Smoke
Blossoms.
Did you know
That the heat of
Your finger tips
Leaves cigarette burn scars,
Coiling galaxy spirals on
The small of my back,
Pressed against
The spaces of my ribs.
On my autopsy they will discover
Marks from your lips
Seared into my bones;
My knuckles,
My neck,
The curve of my shoulders,
The sharpness on my collar bones.
k.f.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Cough, cough, cough cacophony
and justify
next to the jumping garbage can, ash can
split sliver of a view to a mountain range,
and an iron ******* symbol of pollution,
as someone once described it.
On a wooden patio
Jerks, cousins, strangers all breathing heavy
and avoiding the essential questions.
All consumed with their radio, stereo, headphone
intermission, remission, warped time machine
evil, sneezing ideas.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
Exams date sheet is on notice board
Trying to complete the chapter
In the library i am feeling bored
I forgot to bring my headphone
Without music
My mind missing something unknown
I tried to find the alternative
Of music
And the answer is none
So at the same time
I am writing it
Swimming in the sea
Of thoughts
Now the laziness is
little bit !
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
There are some people out there,
Spreading lies to those unaware...
Listen, friends, to my words;
And hear the horrors they said, the curse!
"Price doesn't matter, and it never has,
We'll make a fortune on our own path!
Who even cares about the headphone jack?
It's a waste, nobody wants it back."
"Besides, we can market to those who are dumb.
Stupid enough to type with just a thumb;
They won't care about a closed system.
Nerds? Who could think that we missed 'em?"
This is why I decided to not
Buy from the company as messy as a knot.
I'd rather spill a whole glass of Snapple
Than own a device made by Apple.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 9:18 AM UTC