"janky" poems
A loose handed emblem,
of folded thoughts,
Loss is weaponized in enchanted red,
Wrongs corrected stemming from the
blissful bare signed gawky individuals.
Homage backtracked and renounced
Barely earnest calls for a curious fathom-ability
Heaven bound birdlike shadows,
Bright light gagged and janky,
Found little finger blood tacked to the earth.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
She wove a ring of Magic
and wore it like a crown.
Dancing in the Moon light
when no one was a round.
She wove a ring of Magic,
a spell that no one knew.
She casts it over Mortals,
the ones she wants to woo.
kn
--------------------------------------
*She wove a rope of Magic
the knot was carefully tied
She hung it from the roof-beams
and hung until she died
She wove a rope of Magic
the ties that bind are strong
But people still forgot her
No matter, life goes on*
jb
---------------------------------------
She wove a rope of Magic
forgotten for a while
as She waited in the Ether
wearing that secret smile
She wove a rope of Magic
and swung it down to Earth
Slyly sliding down it
at the time of Her rebirth.
kn
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
The veins in our face
Supply the white blood to our eyes
Making them blue,
And acting as kaleidoscopes
Warping the images into a shattering collage
Where out of every book ever written
Only one single word made sense at all.
Ringing through the buzz
Penetrating the layer of sense within.
The first heart ever made
Was filled with a ghost,
And a single nail held it in place.
I could feel the dust settle
In the creases that radiate from the corners
Of my eyes that see what I see.
And here we go
Running away from one another
To the exact same place
Like a meadow in bloom
For the first time.
The colors soaking up the heat
Inside of a tear
That made it all the way
Down to the belly.
Nothing made more of an influence
On my reasonings for what was about to
Bite me in the ***
The longest joke ever told.
I sat in the orange plush chair
And sipped on my overpriced concoction
And they used my legs to hold up their janky table.
A dog barked from the corner of hell,
**** I can’t believe I'm going
To slip into this **** robe again
So you might think twice about me.
For once.
From the dark of the room
Came a noise unmistakable,
What happened to the cat and mouse mentality
Tip toeing to the edge
Of a bird’s wing and peering over
The glimmer of the chandelier
Hung too low for the average person to pass under.
My baby doll caught a fire
That began where the sun first shined.
Casting down my gaze to the coin
That fell from the hole in my pocket,
The one that paid for my old
Dusty memories and a yellow rose.
Sometimes my moments last too long.
I wish I brought that lens with me
To see the dreams that bleed
Straight back into the day,
Crashing behind my eyelids.
This, here, is my favorite song.
Lets put it on repeat and bob
our heads all night
like we were in water
made out of black stars
I once told you
Not to dream in silence.
Talk in your sleep.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
I have been trying to socialize with more craftspeople
There are lots of color collages around here and I want to trade them for home improvement work
Like my bathroom tile is totally messed from all the cat litter
If one of my new acquaintances were able to fix it, I could give her/him a personalized wish board
I go to the bar by the lumber yard every weekday at 4:45pm with at least $8 in quarters
On full and new moons I come a little earlier and help them set up for the night
If Janky Mike comes around will you please tell him I'm just using the bookstore's payphone?
May your sons excel at binge drinking while simultaneously avoiding addiction issues
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:36 AM UTC
the boy has a match
in his back poc ket. hovering
janky steps
sheathed by fluffy ice
chest reverb erates
as a single rain drop
trickled in pinful loop...
theforestwaits
Undisturbed
not wanting to be burnt but he rations
not wanting anything at all.
in destroying one makes something
whence once
there was nothing. he
s t r i k e s the match aflame and alive,
l
o
w ering it fit to spread
and surely cause his life some havoc... havoc...
havochavochavoc
HAVOC
H A V O C
havoc;
he ruminates the meaning of the word a while
and settles
on it being better than boring old nothing.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 11:32 PM UTC
I barely woke this morning...
Could hardly get up.
My head was fuzzy,
and my nose was running....
I grabbed a hanky.
"What's wrong with you?"
My sweetheart said,
"You feeling janky?"
"Allergies," I paused.
"Nothing too swanky,"
And blew my schnoz
Into a hanky.
We've come to August
And late summer sun;
The apples hang robust;
The garden's almost done.
It's time to go and have some fun,
And now my nose decides to run.
The ragweed and the goldenrod
Fill up the air with pollen pods.
I'm gettin' cranky feeling janky!
I will thank ye to hand me a hanky.
Janky!
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
have you ever looked
at a house and felt
a crippling pain that
you couldn’t go in it?
i have
every day i see my own
front porch
and every day i see the house
still in someone else’s name
but not for much longer
the first hurt is raw
ripping and searing
through my heart
and running into hot
cinnamon fire tears
burning my cheeks
the second hurt is dull
stinging like a
badly sharpened knife
over skin or knowing
what your birthday
present is but having
to wait while not
letting on you know
i grew accustomed to
the custom of becoming
myself in this house
but the walls i grew up in
grew inward too tightly
around me to choke me
and still i have
a pillow to bury my
face in at night
a shower to wash off
the day dust
a kitchen to stand in
when i’m feeling
a bit lost
but lost is the only
feeling i have
when i’m here
in this house
i don’t live here
anymore
i live on my feet
behind counters
through the parking lot
and up the sidewalk
slipping in before
the sun is up
and dragging out
when others are in bed
feeling small
on a dull afternoon
when i can only curl
up on the couch
to think
and wait
time in between
that’s now
time between shifts
and time between living
in my house
and finding my home
it’s not so much
the waiting game
it’s the feeling
that i’m alone
that nobody
wants me
so close and
yet so far
almost there
but stuck here
just keep
the worn floors clean
music playing
and make sure
the janky old doors
are locked at night
this is my town
this is my home now
this town will take
care of me
as i’m wandering through it
halfway homeless
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 10:17 PM UTC
At fifteen you showed me the thrill out of life I always craved and If I wasn't such a pessimist, I would have told you I wanted to, too.
You would drive me around in your car, drifting with the winds at midnight smoke sessions.
At sixteen you stopped seeing her, and her, and her. You stared to talk about her, crying about her. You called me and you called, my god you called. I would let you drive me around, holding fingers with the smell of once faded smoke residue on your car seats.
At seventeen we went to a janky *** motel and I watched you transform into the glistening end of a lit herb. You took me to the end of a long road that was our life together, the end of a friendship. You let me drive your car while holding fingers and telling each other things. I told you what my favorite song was. You told me it could work.
At seventeen you told me I was pretty. At seventeen you took my virginity. At seventeen you announced 'i love you' on the beach at midnight.
At eighteen it was me, and you, and the world. I would drive you around in my car. I would wake up, naked, pressed against your body, clinging like it was life. At eighteen I told you I was leaving. You wanted to come. At eighteen it was me. At eighteen it was you.
**At nineteen I left.
At nineteen I still don't know why I did.
At semi-twenty am I still wondering how you are and if you think of me**.
I wrote you as poetry. I am so sorry.
I should have written you as non-fiction.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
Saŝa serĉas saĝan ŝercon.
Ŝi volas servi verse ĝin.
Vi aŭskultu. Ne tumultu.
Solve buŝeliĝos rid'.
Lucas looks for janky jokes.
It may not matter if they might seem daft.
The phrases turn; the poet's spoke.
He wonders which will laugh at last.
pilin mi li wile musi.
toki mi li tawa ona.
sina kute li pilin mute.
o pilin sona e toki pona.
Feb 18, 2023
Feb 18, 2023 at 2:15 AM UTC
What is up with hp....something seems janky with the site.......some poems won't publish others have 18 views in 23 hours wtf? Is anyone else experiencing this problem???
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 1:14 PM UTC
Iron in the stone bleeds a colour
against grey enamel,
bone bedrock
See ticks and tocks writ on lined faces,
craning to read flickered futures
where rock-solid certainties
and metal connectivities clash
in janky dissonance
Grasping the surety of a copper coin
in a clenched fist,
the shape as sure as love and rage,
when opened, shows
the sleight of hand and thought
sold to us all
Aug 7, 2020
Aug 7, 2020 at 3:48 AM UTC