"henson" poems
the culture club mix-tape section from nylon magazine completes me. sometimes I don’t feel like capitalizing the first letter to the first word of a new sentence. feelings can be so useless sometimes. I use the word sometimes too much. I think I am in love with Keaton Henson. I think I have a crush on one of my co-workers. I’d rather have a crush than be in love with you, it’ll last a while longer that way. I like coffee mugs, they are so comfortable to drink out of, they make me feel safe. I like it better when you’re warm, I want to give you warm feelings. I remember this one time I wrote the saddest poem I've ever written during one of the saddest points in my life, I sat there with legs crossed on the cold ground of a dim hallway on the third floor of the humanities building at school. It was on a yellow blue-lined sheet of paper, I folded it in three, I left it there anonymously and fled. I’ll never know who found that piece of me, perhaps no one ever did. every day is another year. I’m sorry, I always end up writing too much. I’m sorry, for being quite a crap person sometimes, truly I am. There are many things I’ll live to be sorry about, but I've no fault for the words inside of my head. All tomorrow’s parties are dead. Listen to The Babies all night with me instead.
Oh darling, save a place for me in your heart.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
Some say, we don't need black history month.
When in truth we do.
Would the contribution of African American be taught truthfully.
If we had to depend on you know who?
Obviously, they very unaware of several successful black that contributed to America's greatness.
We, very well aware they edited down facts to be turn into fiction.
Like that president that chopped down that cherry tree.
Many doesn't know the plight of Washington, Dubois, Carver.
Let alone know their first name.
It's hardly taught, if it's about us.
George Franklin, Grant-dentist
Ernest Everett, Just.-Scientist
Josh Gibson, one of the greatest baseball player.
We know very well about George, Thomas and James and John Q.
Some say, we all Americans
And in truth, they completely right.
But for reasons very well known.
We are not all equal in sights of others.
When needed, they call upon us to join in.
Some still, say-why do Black history month exist?
But all cultures knows none was eliminated through times.
Than those captured to come here and renamed after their masters.
And facts be told, this cultures lives to embrace into their children's if nothing is ever mention by certain teachers about their cultures.
Than they will keep it before them.
Matthew Alexander, Henson-Explorer
Billie Holiday-singer
Duke Ellington and Count Basie and Cab Calloway.
Greatness, we can't let fade.
Vernon Jordan
Shirley Chilsom
And hosts of present days teachers that push the issues to educate.
Those that say, we don't need Black History months.
Be crying , if we try to eliminate theirs.
Cause that's all they ever known.
Howard University.
Tennessee State and Fisk and various others came to be because of discrimination.
And has turned out some brilliant African Americans.
So our history is needed.
Cause it's about us.
Like Latin History and various others is about other cultures.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
Spoof song: sung to the tune of Five For Fighting's "Superman"
Kermit
I can't stand when high,
I'm not that naive,
I'm just out to find the better part of green,
I'm more than a bird, I'm more than a bear,
I'm more than some frog in piggies underwear
And it's not easy to be green...
Wish that I was high,
****** and half asleep,
Find a way to lie about my jones on Sesame Street
It may sound absurd-but don't be naive,
Even Muppets can smoke too much green,
I may be disturbed but wont you concede,
Even Muppets croak upon skunk ****
And it's not easy to be green...
**Once again I'm small-I'm small and green, well it's
All right, we can all get stoked tonight, and I'm not
Blazing...or anything...**
I can't stand when high,
I'm not that naive,
Drugs just get you fried,
*On hash and buzzed on ****
I'm only a frog on Jim Henson's knee
Wearing pink lingerie on this one way street,
Only a frog on Jim Henson's knee
Looking for older guys who flirt with me,
Yea flirt with me...who flirt with me, yea who flirt with me...
WHO FLIRT WITH ME...
I'm only a frog that's diggin' the green,
I'm only a frog on Kronik 7 Leaves
I'm only a frog who's puffin' on green
AND IT'S NOT EASY... wooohooohoooo...
It's not easy...to be-he...greeeeeen...
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
you are the light at the end of a tendril. a spindle of dread, woven in caustic guile of argyle
parallelograms...phantom realms of solid waste. you are the pin in the subject. gating satan through a thimble
of crocodile tears, the new symbol.
the rude glyph in black bibles and strong drink, en-kindling the dead. rodents ponzi the scheme
of hell’s maze, with lies...your lies...
you have eyes that lead aside from your heart’s plot
you are saboteur. banal.
unrestrained waste. you are the fin in the barracuda puppet, grazing the wrist of Dim Henson
huffing crystal gorillas in the congo of your foyer
you are
the black chandelier.
teach me your cheap trick
striking off ‘ iron-on’ pinkie swears
your praline heresies... your ‘ no remorse’ code
lay bare to me.
better my better angels, to fathom the loathsome ****
of your actual mind. keep me abreast of your wretched games...
apply the rod of your wrong love, above all.... you must betray.
you must know in your fetid rot
of a third eye... the phlegm genius of **** blindness.... teach me the rictus of
cold hearted. a false god in my lotus !
spare me the chaste suzette
flip me the ***** that spits fables.
learn me the savage puns
to pummel you sustaining your worst done.
grant me the lethal beans for my sacred cow
trade me the idylls of your forked heart
for your crushed null
and crossed
bones.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
god, words, where do you start?
when i get like this, i just write my thoughts
is that the same as speaking from the heart?
what heart, what heart?
this thing that beats against my ribs
i'm sure it's just a hollow shell;
pumps blood and oxygen
allows me to live through this hell
but there's nothing more to it
i'm not doing so well
do rhymes make pain sound simpler?
i have a bad habit of using them when i'm heartbroken
rhymes are used to undermine meaning, according to my old English teacher
half rhymes and nursery rhymes and rhyming couplets and sentences left open
to interpretation, to ambiguity, to aching wounds and clinical analysis
i'm thinking of pretentious hipsters and all my therapists as i'm writing this
"the mechanism which allows you to feel is broken"
it wasn't the best movie but that line stuck with me
i think the mechanism which allows me to feel is broken
don't worry, Harry, i know how you feel, Harry
i, too, use the adverb; i, too, feel badly.
the sharp things that cut me, the dull things that bruise me
everything i should feel is either absent or agony.
love, they say; let love in, she heals your thoughts and broken skin!
fickle ***** she is, what lies i've heard her spin.
do you love me when you lie to me, darling love o' mine?
do you love me when you trace your fingers over the nubs of another's spine?
love o' mine, love o' mine, that Touch was supposed to be mine,
divine, divine, beloved and reverent and MINE
it's a good thing i don't want to hold onto you anymore
the rope burns were finally sleeping into my core.
my god, these splinters, i'm bleeding from my fingers
as i try to reach out for something that isn't withered,
because the flowers that you bloomed are shrivelled and abused
i refuse to water them, give them life anew
does that make me a murderer?
well you murdered them, too.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
Every human walks around with a certain kind of sadness
stitched into the tag in the neck of their coat.
They carry it like a wallet weathered from use
and old gift cards in the pocket poke at the seams.
They keep it tucked away like a pressed flower
in between the pages of their favorite novel
and find it while they're thumbing through
for that line about love that they have forgotten.
They leave it in the bottom of their shoe
and let it poke at their soles when they walk,
and, becoming accustomed to it,
no longer feel it at all.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
Let's run in fields and fear the dark together.
Fall off swings, and burn special things,
and both play outside in bad weather.
Let's eat badly.
Let's watch adults drink wine and laugh at their idiocy.
Let's sit in the back of the car,
making eye contact with strangers driving past,
making them uncomfortable.
Not caring.
Not swearing.
Don't ****
Let's both reclaim our superpowers;
the ones we all have and lose with our milk teeth.
The ability not to fear social awkwardness.
To panic when locked in the cellar;
still sure there's something down there.
And while picking from pillows each feather,
let's both stay away from the edge of the bed,
forcing us closer together.
Let's sit in public, with ice cream all over both our faces;
sticking our tongues out at passers by.
Let's cry.
Let's swim.
Let's everything.
Let's not find it funny lest someone falls over.
Classical music is boring.
Poetry baffles us both;
there's nothing that's said is what's meant.
Plays are long, tiresom, sullend, and filled;
with hours that could be spent rolling down hills,
and grazing our knees on cement.
Let's hear stories and both lose our inocence.
Learn about parents and forgiveness,
death and morality,
kindness and art,
thus losing both of our innocent hearts,
but at least we won't do it apart.
Grow up with me.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
Dear boss/ employer/ professor/ supervisor/authoritative figure,
I am writing to you to inform you that I will be unable to attend whatever mandatory engagement I had previously agreed to appear at. I do apologize for the inconvenience this may cause, but I do have my reasons. I won’t be able to come in today because:
☐ I had a nightmare where I was abandoned and I woke up in a sweat and I wasn’t sure whether or not I was still dreaming or not.
☐ With these clouds, the sun doesn’t show until somewhere around 8am and it’s sometime around 4am and the darkness just doesn’t seem to end, whether it be outside my room or inside my thoughts.
☐ I passed a park on my way and as I sat I found a small happiness in watching nature and young joy mingle in a simple way and I couldn’t bear to take myself away from it.
☐ I passed a lady who reminded me of a past love and the next second I was convinced that I would never, ever be loved again.
☐ For the first time I actually came to the conclusion that I will never accomplish as much as I have ever wanted to
☐ I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror
☐ I realized that Freud was right about some things
☐ I accidentally listened to Keaton Henson
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC
I listen to Keaton Henson when my head is spinning
My head is constantly spinning
There are 124 moments in a day where I have to close my eyes
because all I can see are his hands
I hated his hands, five fingered noose
When I was eleven my goldfish died
I cried for seventeen days straight because I wanted nothing more
than to take my life back
just so he could have his
I used to keep my closet doors open to the idea of monsters
my feet off the edge of the bed as I slept
so when they reached out for my child toes
I could ask them to save me from the real monsters I saw every day
When I was 14 I recorded my final words on tape cassettes for my family
so I didn't have to breathe anymore
it was too much work
I was too much work
Now, I drink red wine to awake my soul
and I kiss the lips of the wind when I walk
so I don't have to see it as anything but a lover, a friend
Now, I miss the way his hands enveloped mine
and his body felt like beach rocks under my soft water tongue
and I needed his truths but I couldn't look at his bright suns anymore
I'm a lover of the night
and now, I sit up and write about him instead of sitting next to him
because I'm afraid of the music and I'm afraid of perfection
It doesn't seem right to have things handed to me so easily
in tightly wrapped packages with bows and ribbons string
so beautiful like a journal
Now, I leave my light on when I don't sleep
I don't sleep
He was the only part of me that made any sense
but I wasn't used to making sense
so I threw him to the lions
and prayed he'd never let me love him again
One day he'll know he's better off
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
a lot of people ask who I write for
and mainly it’s really for my girlfriend
I’ve always said that she’s the kind of girl
that makes you write poetry.
it’s to express the endless love
the irretrievable gratitude
and the unconditional happiness I feel.
but it’s also for the broken ones
who desperately want to believe in hope
who have Pandora’s box
wrenched from their hands.
for the crying ones
who need solidarity and a warm cup of tea
overwhelmed and wrapped in a blanket.
it’s also for the 9-to-5’s
who drink when they come home
for those who are simply fed up
and want an escape from it all.
I write to help heal.
for the people out there
who just need to know someone understands.
I write because it’s 4am and
I’m listening to Keaton Henson
and these raw feelings
won’t leave my brain
and won’t let me sleep
so really,
I write
to save myself.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
Bright Eyes: Lua
Loudon Wainwright: Motel Blues
Radiohead: No Surprises
Keaton Henson: You don't know how luck you are
Tigers Jaw: Never saw it coming
Fleetwood Mac: Songbird
Paolo Nutini: Candy
... and your laugh
the clearing of your throat
your sharp intakes of breath
the chattering of your teeth in the cold
and the movement of cloth against your skin
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
https://play.google.com/music/m/Tyxfxgv67h2wk46xo7f72kke2se
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC
and I can;t even write about it anymore
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 3:22 PM UTC
Welcome to my basement
there are plenty of things, toys and tools
play me a song of dismal fools...
You are welcome, but can never leave
I need your parts for the puppets I weave...
It's a place of madness, messes and mayhem
as my machine sews limbs into marionettes...
Dead bodies galore, that I shall resurrect,
as i work diligently to delicately intersect.
drilling holes and threading string
"creep" plays in my mind as I violently sing...
Replacing your eyes with the brightest of blue
wiring your mouth to move on cue.
mechanical hinges and formaldehyde a plenty,
you'll love your new look as will many...
My workshop my joy, my happy place,
except for the stench a horrid disgrace.
look at the walls and all the pretty puppets
lined up in a row like the famed Henson Muppets...
A vast collection of blondes and brunettes
redheads not allowed they're crazy at best.
don't mind the blood it congeals so fast
unlike your beauty it's essence won't last...
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
**** a love
There are times when I feel like just leaving you alone,
But there are times I don’t want to be here all on my own;
But I know if we keep on, keep going on,
I can be right there with you when things go right
And when things go wrong.
I hang out with the losers and the freaks;
I love those people, they are just like me.
Why are you so cruel?
Why did you treat me like a fool?
Why do I care about anybody in this world?
I’m going to see you as a star and pick you apart;
I love you with all my heart, but to destroy is to create art.
To **** a love is to tear apart a connection.
One plus one equals love; this is what they call a misconception.
One plus one equals the possibility of two equaling love,
But it is not a definite answer to the question.
What happens when you put two people who love each other together?
I’m sorry the answer is not they stay together forever.
**** me please; my life is a tragic comedy,
Written by the Devil and acted out by Jim Henson.
Love was my all, now it is just another word,
I have become the killer of love, I have become another version.
Version 2.0, the new me I became;
I have changed from lover of love to the death of hearts.
I live in a hole of endless pain,
I must **** love; I must banish it to the stars.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 11:23 AM UTC
I made a vision board
in CBT therapy
four years ago
I pasted a Keaton Henson quote
“I think a lot of art is trying to make someone love you”
on my board
I just thought it was a nice quote
My therapist then proceeded to tell me
not to create for anyone else
but myself.
I proceeded to not listen.
I’m still writing poems about you
I’m still drawing your hands
I’m still in love
and we haven’t talked in years.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC
Morrissey was deploring
Henson forever boring
So how could similar I
Ever be worth adoring?
a.p
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC
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Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Call me by your name and I’ll call you an old lover because when I kiss you I’m always thinking that it’s the last time. I’m always thinking of how we’ll run into each other years from now and ask if any of this happened the way we remember and I’ll say I’m afraid so. I’m afraid so.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 3:05 PM UTC
there’s a lot of things that people say never existed,
like atlantis, and the love between you and i,
but i am not here to confirm or deny either assumption,
merely to speculate what a world would be like
where you can breathe underwater,
and i can drown comfortably,
and we are together in a place that isn’t real.
before i get ahead of myself,
i’d like to talk about sailors,
whiskey-drunk and singing sea shanties,
and i’d like to talk about pirates,
and the difference between the two.
what i really mean, obviously,
is that i’d like to talk about sirens,
and music, and keaton henson in the middle of the night.
things hit differently when it’s three in the morning;
i’ll be able to shop for groceries and write essays
and exist like a real person until nighttime springs around,
and then i’m lying on my bed catching stars
on the ceiling, hitting myself on the head
to deserve a glimpse of you.
only when everything goes murky,
and i see atlantis in the mist of reality,
am i satisfied.
am i satisfied?
it’s a loaded question, yes,
but we’ve talked about pirates
and we’ve talked about grocery shopping
and i think we’ve exhausted the laundry list of small talk,
so let’s talk about atlantis, instead.
let’s make plans like we used to,
and you can use my spontaneity
to make another girl love you,
and i’ll be alright as long as i have a bank of imagination
and a sea to drown in.
sorry - i don’t mean drowning.
i mean that everywhere is connected in some convoluted way
by oceans, and if i can stretch my heart miles out
then maybe i’ll find something that i can hold onto
when the world is moving too fast for me to grasp onto anything
except the possibility that one day,
i will die, and my body will sink,
and perhaps you’ll sing siren-song at my funeral.
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:37 PM UTC
It takes a lot
doesn't it
to move you.
making you feel something again
whether it be a Keaton Henson song
or a soul shattering movie
something that can tug
enough force to move the mountains
but only cause a slight deviation of the soul
how accustomed are we?
all the emotions in line
following the whistle and commands
marching forward
you do not cry unless told to
love unless loved
smile without humor
point out the ever-quickening spread
of emotionally hollow organisms
it takes an earthquake to awaken your soul
how fucken sad is that
we have become so disconnected from reality
laughing when instructed
and crying when applicable
**** that
feeling emotions is the only **** thing
that reminds me I am still
******* alive
and I'll be ****** if they try take that away
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
Im never ready when I need to be,
I always leave when I should stay
Disconnect when I should connect.
It wasnt going to be any different with you.
I wasnt ready when you were.
Ill be honest, I want the things I cant have.
I tried to be less sabotaging like you asked
On the stairs, hand on my right cheek, you said I need you to know you are enough.
But who wants to settle when the winds beneath your feet and your always moving to greener grass.
At 3am you sent me small hands by keaton Henson
I dont blame you for leaving me cold, hanging, blue ticks, unresponsive.
I still only look for you when all the doors are shut without any windows to jump through,
But even your welcome matt's been removed.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
Don't I
feel dumb
I feel
So used
I fell for your games
And your juvenile muse
I can't still care
You chose
what you chose
Whether it's to lose
You're a grown woman
But are you aware
Of the adult you're becoming
I'm talking to you direct
There is no running
There is no one else
I'm starting to think
There is no hope
What grown woman
Is alright with being broke
One that has no control
Not even with a remote
Popping depression pills
And sorts
Out of her Ecko Red coat You have 3 kids
That need Essentials Smiles, sleep, soap
When I found someone Like I
I was insanely superbly stoked But I had to
Learn
Had to be warned
That even those feelings
That leave you cuddly warm
Can be toxic to you
Just in a different
Form
I don't know what to
Make of it
Make amends or mourn
Birthday the day before mine
But I don't know
when you was born
The month of March
Has been torn
The 10th and 11th marks the split Marks where it was tore
Tore me to pieces
This is my ending statement
This is my
Thank you thesis
You play games
Why keep this
Like receiving
**** as a present
You play games
Like a preteen peasant
And I know this isn't pleasant
The month of March ends on the 10th And then starts again on the 11th
You didn't just
Throw me under the bus
You was driving
Barely any passengers
But I know
Jealousy was riding
Riding very far
You was jealous
That we took Creamy to get a car But that's your friend
Since y'all been 10
I'm talking to you
Adult to adult
I'm not venting
Did you forget who I am JohnDre
Not John Henson
Tell your 2nd baby daddy To quit pimping
There's only one Johnny And he's Whitney's
Back when
I was going through it emotionally You was one person to get me
But while you was giving me advice You was throwing me under
The #18 and #50
I could have lost my job
I could have been in jail
And when I come out
And confront you
You'll probably show that one smile Shrug your shoulders and say oh well But there's no oh well about it
It's your life
You're the pilot
But your games have ran their course Your games
Have run outta mileage
You'll lie and say you're hurt
But don't even
Have a single symptom
It's never ever ever Your fault
You're always the Victim
You're sneaky slimy snake I refuse to be injected With venom
Your 3 kids
I would love
To meet them
But if you lose your job
How will you keep them
Come on dog
Come on March 10
The month of March has split at the 11th and won't be put back together
Ever ever again
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 6:04 PM UTC