"jimmying" poems - Hello Poetry

Franz left his car keys in the backseat of his Camry, He was locked out, He was jimmying the door with a Swiss Army knife, Trying to pry it open. I just got out of class, I held the knife as he pulled at the door handle, Keeping him company. Then there was a man behind us, Yelling at both Franz and me. Put your hands up and step away from the car, A police cruiser pulled up, Two more men jumped out Already armed, Guns drawn, Aimed right between my eyes, I can look down the barrels, See glimmers of copper. Put your hands behind your head, Oh **** we're ******* dead, Get on your knees, Don't look away, look at me, We both did what the men with badges and guns said, We tried to explain ourselves. One man picked me up off the asphalt, Walked me over, And pinned me on the hood of the cruiser, The paint was fresh. Another man took my backpack, Shook out the contents, His smirk told me he wasn't satisfied, not yet. He then searched through my jacket pockets, Patted me down, A dark kid in nice clothes. It all seems to check out.

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Dec 2, 2014

Dec 2, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC

armando-cardenas

Another Day at School

Franz left his car keys in the backseat of his Camry, He was locked out, He was jimmying the door with a Swiss Army knife, Trying to pry it open. I just got out of class, I held the knife as he pulled at the door handle, Keeping him company. Then there was a man behind us, Yelling at both Franz and me. Put your hands up and step away from the car, A police cruiser pulled up, Two more men jumped out Already armed, Guns drawn, Aimed right between my eyes, I can look down the barrels, See glimmers of copper. Put your hands behind your head, Oh **** we're ******* dead, Get on your knees, Don't look away, look at me, We both did what the men with badges and guns said, We tried to explain ourselves. One man picked me up off the asphalt, Walked me over, And pinned me on the hood of the cruiser, The paint was fresh. Another man took my backpack, Shook out the contents, His smirk told me he wasn't satisfied, not yet. He then searched through my jacket pockets, Patted me down, A dark kid in nice clothes. It all seems to check out.

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An unnoticed magnetic effect Soft words, and sullen glances His persuasive being takes in my soul And I am powerless Hand to hand I am guided His words merely noise Where my mind creates the words Apprehension, panic, guilt Expressionless, feeble, and lost There is no way out I hear the latch on the door lock Suddenly I am trapped My thoughts fill the empty space in the room Large hands move objects around And travel to the crevices of my body With no way out I stay silent and still A chill is sent up my spine I close my eyes and feel his body pressed up against my chest My mind takes over my being My echoing screams startle us both My arms push him forcefully My legs make a run for the door Kicking objects Kicking legs Jimmying locks I’m free

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Nov 23, 2010

Nov 23, 2010 at 6:37 PM UTC

kara-maclean

Saving My Soul

An unnoticed magnetic effect Soft words, and sullen glances His persuasive being takes in my soul And I am powerless Hand to hand I am guided His words merely noise Where my mind creates the words Apprehension, panic, guilt Expressionless, feeble, and lost There is no way out I hear the latch on the door lock Suddenly I am trapped My thoughts fill the empty space in the room Large hands move objects around And travel to the crevices of my body With no way out I stay silent and still A chill is sent up my spine I close my eyes and feel his body pressed up against my chest My mind takes over my being My echoing screams startle us both My arms push him forcefully My legs make a run for the door Kicking objects Kicking legs Jimmying locks I’m free

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French fries with mayonnaise Taking off shoes just to put them on again Listening to the Cure Wondering where that girl went I keep going the wrong way am I too far gone to change direction jimmying locks, trying doors more closed than open now

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Aug 22, 2018

Aug 22, 2018 at 8:30 PM UTC

HotCocoGazelle

adulting

French fries with mayonnaise Taking off shoes just to put them on again Listening to the Cure Wondering where that girl went I keep going the wrong way am I too far gone to change direction jimmying locks, trying doors more closed than open now

7

this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects being ma late mama's boytchik (now, she long since deceased, whose cremated remains of day scattered to all points on compass) fondly referencing both sisters as dabchick incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue, especially when angry, she quickly segued from mild expletive fiddlestick the latter playfully aired, when kibitzing wit bubeleh reminiscing being dirt poor, nonetheless zee mother every now an again homesick regaling the whole mishpokhe (meaning us brood of kids) interrupting herself with frequent non sequiturs discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects as if external forcefield jimmying a joystick interleaving disparate threads with subsequent tangential linkedin snippets with feigned lovesick chatting 'bout cockamamie "Grandpa Moishe" and his chaim yankel posse (to escape hen pecking nudnik "grandma Rebecca"), a trenchant termagent bubba, not averse to incorporate dreck in the same sentence with zayda ostracized him scoring figurative placekick, whence upon his schlepping back home met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick king atmosphere choking tearfully "mother" recounted farblunget anger thick lee palpable extremely discomfiting, particularly when ("mom's") girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt, where penury churned moribund thoughts viz empty cupboards devoid of bare necessities a figurative apropos yardstick.

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May 31, 2018

May 31, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

A Bissel Mashugga

this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects being ma late mama's boytchik (now, she long since deceased, whose cremated remains of day scattered to all points on compass) fondly referencing both sisters as dabchick incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue, especially when angry, she quickly segued from mild expletive fiddlestick the latter playfully aired, when kibitzing wit bubeleh reminiscing being dirt poor, nonetheless zee mother every now an again homesick regaling the whole mishpokhe (meaning us brood of kids) interrupting herself with frequent non sequiturs discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects as if external forcefield jimmying a joystick interleaving disparate threads with subsequent tangential linkedin snippets with feigned lovesick chatting 'bout cockamamie "Grandpa Moishe" and his chaim yankel posse (to escape hen pecking nudnik "grandma Rebecca"), a trenchant termagent bubba, not averse to incorporate dreck in the same sentence with zayda ostracized him scoring figurative placekick, whence upon his schlepping back home met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick king atmosphere choking tearfully "mother" recounted farblunget anger thick lee palpable extremely discomfiting, particularly when ("mom's") girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt, where penury churned moribund thoughts viz empty cupboards devoid of bare necessities a figurative apropos yardstick.

47

Unbeknownst to me if royal gilded crests comprised my rusty dust caked coat of arms hence, I take liberty successfully farms productive crop to contrive fictitious Medieval Age forebears with favorable charms strong agile hands hurling crude accouterments centuries prior to invention of firearms, which weapons (of mass sieve construction) privy to proto gendarmes, this inventiveness of mine conjures courageous knights in shining armor, perhaps monogrammed, hammered chain metal, nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore where love's labors not lost, viz hub bully accepting, condoning, and employing embellishments extempore, whereby solar rays alight, flickr, and glint glore re: us astral motifs, the stellar craftsmanship one (even a poor, indigent destitute beggar like yours truly) could not ignore exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic trappings incorporating magical lore aesthetically pleasing fascinating, and appealing to one poor uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating, and fancying deplorable basket case to restore himself, the legitimate true heir, who could double as courtly jesting troubadour, whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War constitutes dreamy gotcha your attention fabricated and facilitated to Zoar, an actual ancient city anachronistically inserted here thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference Google made me aware, which ye probably care nary a fig about, but placename linkedin mere to allow, enable and provide bare, lee tenuous appeal dare ring me to trump poetic formality near rolly returning full circle (one tough Job) manufacturing prevarication recounting "FAKE" heir essentially envisioning, imagining, and jimmying gallant high in the saddle career timeless lifeline chess piece of centuries gone by enshrouded with reverence by this air rent considerably less provocative then missives by Baudelaire.

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Jan 15, 2019

Jan 15, 2019 at 10:07 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

My "FAKE" Genealogical Knighthood

Unbeknownst to me if royal gilded crests comprised my rusty dust caked coat of arms hence, I take liberty successfully farms productive crop to contrive fictitious Medieval Age forebears with favorable charms strong agile hands hurling crude accouterments centuries prior to invention of firearms, which weapons (of mass sieve construction) privy to proto gendarmes, this inventiveness of mine conjures courageous knights in shining armor, perhaps monogrammed, hammered chain metal, nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore where love's labors not lost, viz hub bully accepting, condoning, and employing embellishments extempore, whereby solar rays alight, flickr, and glint glore re: us astral motifs, the stellar craftsmanship one (even a poor, indigent destitute beggar like yours truly) could not ignore exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic trappings incorporating magical lore aesthetically pleasing fascinating, and appealing to one poor uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating, and fancying deplorable basket case to restore himself, the legitimate true heir, who could double as courtly jesting troubadour, whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War constitutes dreamy gotcha your attention fabricated and facilitated to Zoar, an actual ancient city anachronistically inserted here thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference Google made me aware, which ye probably care nary a fig about, but placename linkedin mere to allow, enable and provide bare, lee tenuous appeal dare ring me to trump poetic formality near rolly returning full circle (one tough Job) manufacturing prevarication recounting "FAKE" heir essentially envisioning, imagining, and jimmying gallant high in the saddle career timeless lifeline chess piece of centuries gone by enshrouded with reverence by this air rent considerably less provocative then missives by Baudelaire.

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