"jacks" poems
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
you text me to say you're coming over
and
my heart does jumping jacks
it does pull ups on the bones lining my ribcage
my veins become skipping ropes
my heart
races and
races
until
my lungs inflate like giant love sacs
and my heart collapses
resting in your presence
as soon as your fist hits the door.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
Tick tock, Tick tock, Tock Tock ticking
Clocks cluck, catching curious cries
Several seconds slide, slowly sticking
Eclectic evil ever eager to eat out eyes
Tock tock, tick tick Tock
danger dances down, depicting doom
Hands hold hearts heavily in hock
aren't all able to articulately assume?
Clock is currently counting costs
justifying jumps and juggling jacks
tabulating time that is tossed
lightening liberal lust and loving lax
tick tick tick, tick tick tick
destination is a detonation despised
tock tock tock, tock tock tock
sheep sleep soundly shrouded, so surprised
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
Take a butchers at this me old Chinas.
Slip ya Plates o' Meat into ya Jacks,
brew up a nice cup o' Rosy,
and if you haven't got a Scooby what I'm on about,
feel free to fire me off a Jimmy Nail
and tell me it's a load of old cobblers.
Can you Adam an' Eve it,
I left me Dog 'n' Bone on the Apples
and when I went to call the Trouble 'n' Strife
some joker had Half-Inched it.
But that's not the worst of it.
When I got back to the Cat and Mouse
she'd done a bunk in me shiny new Jam Jar.
I couldn't believe me Pork Pies!
So here I am all on me Todd,
me only transport a ****** old **** van ****
Gordon Bennett!
I'm goin' down the ****** for a few Britneys,
gonna get totally Brahms and List
and blow a big fat raspberry at the whole thing.
Tomorrow's another bale 'o' hay.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 3:20 PM UTC
the other day we were in a
bookstore in the mall
and my woman said, "look, there's
Bob!"
"I don't know him," I said.
"we had dinner with him
not too long ago," she said.
"all right," I said, "let's get
out of here."
Bob was a clerk in the store
and his back was to us.
my woman yelled, "hello, Bob!"
Bob turned and smiled, waved.
my woman waved back.
I nodded at Bob, a very
delicate blushing fellow.
(Bob, that is.)
outside my woman asked, "don't you remember him?"
"no."
"he came over with Ella. re- member Ella?"
"no."
my woman remembers everything.
I don't understand it, although
I suppose it's polite
to remember names and faces
I just can't do it
I don't want to carry all those
Bobs and Ellas and Jacks and Marions
and Darlenes around in my mind. eating and
drinking with them is difficult en- ough.
to attempt to recall them at will
is an affront to my well-
being.
that they remember me is
bad enough.
6.2k
all aluminum alloy ammo
bane bat brakes badly basters back bones
come call cthulhu Cristo cuz
dead ********** dominate de download
even elven eternal endowments
fail frivolously flaming for fair fraudulence
grant good goggles give grandiose gratuity
how hella homeboys have how he has
If I ignore I implicate its implore
jack jacks jacks
kay killla kooks krack
LAPD locks la lackeys
maybe mom made mad monoxide
no, no natural nix NOx neutralizes
oh over overt opp only overlay orphic
please protest politely panic pretenses perpetuity
quiet quivers quiet queens
remember rage reaps reciprocity
so sour sits supplanters sat
to tell them to tare trail *** tat?
universal unhappiness underlays under us
victory validates victors vanity
why warble when winners wont waste worry wanting
x-axis x-rays Xerophagy Xanax Xanthorroea
you yodel yonder yet yahweh's yells Yarrish
zero zag zealots zoos
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 4:40 AM UTC
*chaste pecks from the super-sonic youth
numb lips flutter to the hollowed cheeks of normality
no longer the hand-prints on the guide book to hostility
a pamphlet of rudimentary teachings;
the principles of tolerance and rebellion and acceptance of human beings
a concoction of suppressed psychotic behavior, quick wit, and center of satirical tease
constantly moving with heavy footsteps and heavier hearts
their minds and bodies plagued with actions from a deserted youth
soul lusting over the naivety of people before self-actualization; how crude
do they call it an existential crisis or the daily life of a agoraphobic nobody
shouts from the depths of caged fears that scrape the oblivious flesh in their brain; a bit gaudy
mother, sister, brother, father how your words crush the knots of comfort that line my internal organs
bleeding from the pores of my screams; streams of moon-beams shooting out my eyes; oh, not again!
stomping our metaphorically spiked toenails against the idealism of pop culture
oh, my, how adolescence is the worst kind of torture
cherry slushies lined with cigarettes to create a whirl-pool of nostalgia
recreational drugs and ironic situations to ease our instinctual sense of proverbial nausea
loud-mouthed demons spawned out of clothes-hangers and emotional turmoil
show up in our nightmares that we nick-name ‘a good place to contemplate suicide’
repeated imagery stacked like flap-jacks in the mouths of blissed-out sociopaths
too self-indulgent to include us in to their personal stories so we can observe, record, and assess
i don’t perceive doctors to be particularly and predominantly just and true
but i one time met a doctor who told me ‘being a teenager is perhaps the hardest thing you could ever do’*
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
We love to chase the wind through streaks of blinding bliss,
Tagging the glorious ideals of love, peace, friendship, even
The meaning of life, to weeping willows and pensive pebbles.
We admire the monochrome sky in all its barren blue or pregnant purple;
Hues of burple and plue are dismissed as being tedious, or just confused.
Fear not, photoshop will rectify this pigmented aberration.
We giggle at clouds that resemble kitchen utensils or mystical creatures;
“Hey look a teddy bear in a spacesuit with a flowerpot on his head wielding the Sword of Gryffindor!”
We declare sagely, with the acumen of a legendary bird watcher.
We resurrect grass angels by launching into horizontal jumping-jacks, and,
Just as a disclaimer, no flower was harmed in the process. Not that it matters,
As long as we did not soil our Lacoste and Burberry.
We spin a mixtape out of the torrential downpour, our tracks pitting
The pitter of regularity against the patter of inconstancy, synchronizing
The symphony of splashes to an undercurrent of nostalgia.
We kiss against the bark of an elm, and if a tree is not available in the vicinity,
We throw ourselves down a nearby hill, tumbling into a ball of moist romance,
Panting, as we bask in the studio lighting of the approving sun.
Every still is captured by a Lomo,
Every scene arrested in sepia motion,
Every moment ravished by the chichi Bohemian in us.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 4:03 PM UTC
There’s a place, where licorice vines have climbed,
Deep in the night, that only children can find;
Where leaves of waxed paper on trees are hung,
And what grows on the branches is sweet to the tongue.
Garlands of butterscotch, chocolate, and mint,
In their bright wrappers, sparkle, and glint;
Bubbling springs of sarsaparilla, through the valley are poured,
Washing sugar beaches with reeds of sour chord.
Swedish fish swim in soda geysers with bliss,
While fizzing pop-rocks spurt, spittle, and hiss.
Sunset clouds of cotton candy sweep past in the sky;
Trees sway in the delicious breeze that smells like apple pie.
Skies will rain down skittles, when there is a storm,
Pelting molasses window panes in a giant swarm;
Sour gummi worms are dug up, free to take,
In the grainy, nutmeg layers of the coffee cake.
Carmel creams, Mary Janes, Black Jacks, and Almond Joys,
Coconutties, Jawbreakers, Carmel Rolos and Long Boys--
All these grow, in lines straight as peppermint sticks,
Planted in brown sugar, on fields of cinnamon toothpicks;
But when the sun lets out its first ray,
The entire land just melts away
And children don’t remember where they’ve been,
That whole night asleep, but they wake with a grin;
And through the whole day, their dreams will entice,
Until they visit again, the Land of Sugar and Spice.
8/9/11
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
I
I see the boys of summer in their ruin
Lay the gold tithings barren,
Setting no store by harvest, freeze the soils;
There in their heat the winter floods
Of frozen loves they fetch their girls,
And drown the cargoed apples in their tides.
These boys of light are curdlers in their folly,
Sour the boiling honey;
The jacks of frost they finger in the hives;
There in the sun the frigid threads
Of doubt and dark they feed their nerves;
The signal moon is zero in their voids.
I see the summer children in their mothers
Split up the brawned womb's weathers,
Divide the night and day with fairy thumbs;
There in the deep with quartered shades
Of sun and moon they paint their dams
As sunlight paints the shelling of their heads.
I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
Or lame the air with leaping from its hearts;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.
II
But seasons must be challenged or they totter
Into a chiming quarter
Where, punctual as death, we ring the stars;
There, in his night, the black-tongued bells
The sleepy man of winter pulls,
Nor blows back moon-and-midnight as she blows.
We are the dark derniers let us summon
Death from a summer woman,
A muscling life from lovers in their cramp
From the fair dead who flush the sea
The bright-eyed worm on Davy's lamp
And from the planted womb the man of straw.
We summer boys in this four-winded spinning,
Green of the seaweeds' iron
Hold up the noisy sea and drop her birds,
Pick the world's ball of wave and froth
To choke the deserts with her tides,
And comb the county gardens for a wreath.
In spring we cross our foreheads with the holly,
Heigh ** the blood and berry,
And nail the merry squires to the trees;
Here love's damp muscle dries and dies
Here break a kiss in no love's quarry,
O see the poles of promise in the boys.
III
I see you boys of summer in your ruin.
Man in his maggots barren.
And boys are full and foreign to the pouch.
I am the man your father was.
We are the sons of flint and pitch.
O see the poles are kissing as they cross.
3.4k
Breaking his enthusiasm as my pencil spasm insanely random like a Gatlin cannon my magnum blastin shots taken so I'm shootin then walking off like cam Nuked'm these civil lies causing an evolution I'm killing guys its the only solutions dude blowing smoke too much pollution on the same page until I go rampage and start looting enraged second phase using the bars from my cage to punch lines through these frames I'm battle rappin as quick as they can match'em let it happen captain Hook I'll patch ' em in tandom with passion my fraction got these ******* trashing like DJs scratching I'm thirsty for action these weapons I'm packing get rowdy they start clapping like jacks sons put a cap in your captain capitalize off what happens I'll top 5 of your top 10 you fighting for your life I'm just saying one with a slight of hand I'm disarming this man King of Kings Schooling these Lord of rings on thier aim, I'm top tier they lame I'm **** ' em all with the same ball and chain pen dragging them all to my hall of slain, this a deadly game, and I bringing the major pain.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
dragonflies melt
into each other.
flowers meld
shaded silver
upon silver.
string whips of
cotton float by like jacks
thrown by children,
unsusceptible to
the force of gravity.
the mechanics of
heart machines
crank awake.
steel knees bend dull and
swollen.
venetian mask with
sterling tongue
skims the tops
of tiny toes
and errantly spring-ed
grasshoppers..
warm bodies
in bubbling steel
meadow—
cool in nature,
stolen like
gold
crafted and
crafted again
in heat.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
The Joker, they called him.
Your fate resting in the cards he held
The deck he carried
kings, queens, aces and jacks.
but, no joker.
Why?
Well because, that was he.
"Smile, its your turn."
He'd laugh,
A sinister smile staining his lips.
"Lets play a game, my dear."
"What game?"
The question always fearfully asked
"Well...
simply,
a game of Russian roulette!"
He'd gleefully exclaim.
"But, just one question....
What's your lucky number?"
He'd say, shuffling a deck of knife sharp cards.
"And in the end we all lose!"
He'd grin, before going to capture his next game.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
maple-cured, smoked, rawhide hands,
tarantula hands bulldozing rice onto
tines like an icebreaker ramming through
glacial bergs, Holly
Golightly on the tv, on
mute, and oh those hips,
that figure, in that black dress,
banana hands cracking Alaskan king
crablegs and ******* the juice and eating
the meat, legs spindly and hairy
and soaked in butter, dripping,
liver cooking, roasting, sloshed on gin,
cribbage board patinaed
in dust, he eats his liver, downs
another gin, cracks another leg, crab
hair caught in his teeth, Holly talking about
getting the mean reds but he can’t
hear it, his luck run out,
his luck a prize from a box of ******* Jack,
and the snarling throb in his head,
cinderblock face, cinderblock house,
3-day-stubble, has he had enough (to drink)?
not by the stubble of his
chinny-chin-chin,
liver is gone, crab is gone,
so he eats the eyes,
dowsing his ******* Jacks
in gin, yesterday wine-in-a-box
and Cheez-Whiz, sprayed right into his
unbrushed maw, a one-person wine-
and-cheese fête classy as it gets,
he’s Mister High Society,
Cheez-Whiz crust in his stubble,
and a cinderblock CRASHES to the floor and it’s
lights out, and Holly, still no one
to hear her, saying
she’ll never let anyone put her in a cage.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
--And do not be indiscreet or unconventional. Play it safe.--
Listen here. I've never played it safe
in spite of what the critics say.
Ask my imaginary brother, that waif,
that childhood best friend who comes to play
dress-up and stick-up and jacks and Pick-Up-Sticks,
bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics.
Or form a **** Club where we all go
in the bushes and peek at each other's ***
Pop-gunning the street lights like crows.
Not knowing what to do with funny Kotex
so wearing it in our school shoes. Friend, friend,
spooking my lonely hours you were there, but pretend.
2.7k
*I folded my cards
after I laid the last hand bare
And got ******* by a queen
and the sharpness of your aces
looking at jacks
a knave of hearts
and prince of diamonds
the choice is not easy
which to throw,
Which to keep
I dont fit in this deck
i'm in the wrong game
because the card closest to my chest is a joker
and it just doesnt figure Here.*
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 4:31 AM UTC
When I was 15, I wouldn’t have believed you
if you told me all of this about constant lament
in a Red painted Animal House of scapegoats
that I’ve yet to see
it’s
streets of beige
it’s
fast food bad food no food spilled milk or beer
it’s
the South no the East maybe West probably North
it’s
in the air the water the meat there’s just too much heat to breathe or hold a job
it’s
hourly wages and daily commutes of gypsy peddlers in a town I’ve never been to
it’s
the cigarettes or nicotine my useless spleen filtering things I should never inhale or drink
it’s
divorce rates leading to ***** flicks c-sections finding acquaintances on monitors after dark only able to generate laughter over years of tears
it’s
women
it’s
pain
it’s
the migraines we get when we're waiting on the rain to paint the beige streets bronze
it’s
rolling trees metal trucks frozen lakes lumber jacks and ice fishing
it's
the anxiety of right wrong bad good all grey in the sunshine without you
it’s
the words of times you said meaning more to me than it ever could to you
it’s
the colossus of Wall St. overbearing my own suit and tie un-ironed or cared for but necessary none the less
it’s
CCTV the fight for power Government foreign travelers or terrorists Project Paper clip MK Ultra Plum Island persuasion propaganda Paul Wolfowitz
it’s
who governs what you can afford when you sit tattered on a curb after earning another mans bread
it’s
what has or has not been said 7 times or none that still lingers on the grass out front of home or house
it’s
no matter how big you are you still answer a toy phone handed to you by a two year old
it’s
the tears of Alexander when he realized there were no more worlds to conquer
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
Second chances are pots of gold at the end of a rainbow.
But we treat them like a prize from a box of ******* jacks;
Cherished one minute, then the next we put it back.
Not taking things for granted is easier said than done.
But if you get a second chance, treat it like it's the only one
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 7:42 PM UTC
what do i have to do to be noticed by you
would i catch your attention if i crashed a car
yesterday i climbed on the roof and did twenty jumping jacks
does my incredible emotional instability repel you
do you want to cuddle me until i never have those thoughts
please just answer my text
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
Wake up
Look in mirror
fat
Take off clothes
Look in mirror
why is my stomach so swollen looking??
******* hate this body*
especially my stomach
Weigh
102.3
finally
Breakfast
Strawberries
10 calories
Coffee and cream
34 calories..
too many
need energy, though
fine.
strawberries+coffee+cream= 44 calories
Weigh
102.6
**** it*
*****
Weigh
102.4
better
Go for run
burned 400 calories
Hungry
can't eat
Look in mirror
the way my fat sticks out is disgusting
Weigh
102.4
100 sit ups
burned 50 calories
200 jumping jacks
burned 70 calories
Look in mirror
why am I not thin yet
don't fade out again
Passes out
Go to doctor
Says too thin
don't lie to me
Dinner
Peach
36 calories
Energy drink
210 calories
ugh
need it desperately though
strawberries+coffee+cream+peach+energy drink= 290
Weigh
103.1
hate myself
Stare in mirror
Stare in mirror
Stare in mirror
Examine body
*****
Weigh
102.1
200 sit ups
burned 100 calories
Get dumped by boyfriend
it's probably because I'm fat
Take shower
Get out
Look in mirror
you are disgusting
Go to bed
I hate myself
REALITY
scary thin
ate too little, exercised too much
unrealistically saw herself
died two years later of a self inflicted gunshot to the head and a starved soul
note said: “I love you, but I hate myself and the fact I'll never be small enough for you”
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Sit me down at the bar
I'll take a Jacks on the Rocks
I need it strong
Stronger than you've ever made it
So make it a tall glass
I'll be here for a while
Hey bartender pour me another
Let me tell you why I'm here
I walked out of a church
I was suppose to get married today
She's a beautiful women
Smart, **** Sensitive
Couldn't ask for a better woman
I walked out because I'm not marriage material
I wasn't meant to be a husband
Not to someone as incredible as her
She deserves a man
Aiming, truly willing to be by her side
Through the thick and sick days
I'm leaving to go to war
For a country that turns their back
On the men and women sacrificing
The things and people they love
Hey bartender
I'm going to need another
This buzz isn't strong enough
***** it put a little Jose Cuervo
He'll spice this buzz up
See bartender I may be a stupid man
But I know what's worth fighting for
She is worth every bomb exploding
Every soul my AR15 takes
I'll be the grim reaper in any country
As long as I know she is truly safe
I guess I should attend my wedding
The same way I'll attend my brothers funeral
Filled with sorrow and love
Another son is going to war
With a bottle and for a woman
A son that might never come home
The way she wants me too
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
*Peanuts, water, healthy snacks.
Frosted flakes, ******* jacks.
Eggs and ham, sausage links.
Tortillas, energy drinks.
Triple chocolate bundt cakes,
Little MiOs, Gatorades.
Cupcakes, twinkies, and pop tarts.
Lots of shopping, I should start.
Buuuut I won't. Cuz I'm lazy.*
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
my heart is doing push-ups,
jumping jacks inside my chest
and i wish you hadn't kissed me.
i look like
a bed full of television static
ready to carry you to sleep
on saturday night
sunday early morning.
there is crying in the next room.
like they know you wont come home,
like yeah they know it too.
we are losing
we are lost.
the world is swallowing me again.
i do not fear the depth
the dead
swallowing me.
my heart is doing push ups,
jumping jacks inside of my chest
and i wish i wasn't such a ******* mess.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Antsy aardvarks all
accept ants accordingly
as an addiction
Bamboo bayonets
bought by barbaric, beastly
barons bite beatniks
Cloistered cobblers can
color candy-cane conches
concealing crooners
Daffodils doodle
daydreams down, debauchery
demons deafening
Every eon each
electric elephant eats
eleven elk eggs
For fun fantasies
file films filosophic'ly
filling filaments
Go get greens
Get grass grayer gal
goonie ghoul
Hello high hammock
how hooligans heave haddocks
heathenly hecklers
Igloos ixist in
icy islands interning
internationally
Jello jam jizzy
Jacks jostling jewels juney
jump jump joop jail
Dec 27, 2009
Dec 27, 2009 at 9:11 PM UTC
The Lego castles I built when I was little
Aren't strong enough to keep you safe
But they are the best I can do.
And I promise
The collapsed dollhouse in the garage
Is not a fair representation of me.
Though it might be a bit too close to the truth.
And I've never been good at Jacks
But I promise to pick up all your pieces
Every time you get thrown around.
And I got good practice
Taking care of people
Through all the stories I made up when I was five
And the rubber heads of my Barbies
We're always still connected to the plastic bodies
At the end.
So I think I have good experience
On how to stay alive in the real world
So maybe we could live in Lego houses forever
Please?
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC