"joysticks" poems
Through the red joysticks
And white & blue slap buttons.
Without the advancement of memory cards
Or weird split screens to
distract.
My last life is always the one
I save for you,
Through the experience points
and colorful gems
There’s much more to explore.
My first wow, my first time, my next again
& Again.
No matter how many times
I feel like I lose,
You’re the reason I always get back up.
My initials fill all ten slots of your heart,
Until you're decommissioned and pulled
Out of stock.
There they will always remain
Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 4:47 AM UTC
i was weaving through lit-up boxes
with lollipops as joysticks.
i was following a fairy that left
a trail of violet pixie dust
behind her iridescent wings
and streams of what do you want to play?
i sensed the glare of a drunken owl's eyes
singe into my back as i traced letters
on the surface of a toy chest:
i'm sorry baby, it read,
yet he lowered his gun until it reached
just the tip of his wings
and he fired.
he fired life into the words i wrote,
life that made the words i wrote surround me,
suffocate me.
he was drunk on restless nights,
wanting to
f
e
e
l
love again.
love, love, lust, love;
does he even know the difference?
suddenly i felt the flat surface
of a blade stroking my back,
teasing me of my death.
are you having fun?
do you want to know what real fun is like?
his embrace stole innocence from my lungs
and the kisses he planted on my cheeks
burned holes into what was once a rosy pink,
into what was once of joyful skin.
you lost weight, he acknowledged with a smirk,
you look amazing.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 8:17 PM UTC
There are rules and protocol,
movements and routine
not quite episodic and semantic--
non-declared transition and rituals,
rounded manners distinct
from infinite loop
and routed inner biplane
hemmed to a sight line,
spiraling death down.
Earth or Spitfire flare dare?
Grounded embrace forever comes.
I move, postponing
and extending.
The declared break is now.
Airflow ripples,
and eyes tear.
Straining shear forces
reducing reasoned response
to instinctual joysticks.
Old, new, modified,
learned sticky
quirks of friends,
Lost love lingering,
switching *****
adjusting yaw, pushing yoke,
subtle procedural affectations
stolen, infused in
to fly, bank, and escape.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
I get pain in my joy and joy in my pain
I get pizza an' marshmallows, joysticks, juice, and things
Resistance won't break out
won't **** up your head
and if it does
thank god you'll get dead
The caged bird sings
but it's got a tiny head
so you cook all it's flesh
and keep yourself fed
The time is coming
and you'll be happier then
when you just get nothing
so your flag can win
May 23, 2011
May 23, 2011 at 12:29 PM UTC
Hey friend! I have a lot to tell you
Friend! You are greater
than your failures.
Friend! You are creation
and there is a creator.
Friend! You are redeemed
and there is a redeemer.
Friend! You are loved
and there is a lover,
who loves far beyond
that man
no boy with so much apathy in
his bones, so much laze
in his blood
with his thumbs
over the levers, buttons,
joysticks that have never
will never know joy, please.
Friend you are more.
Friend He is more!
Friend, I will never
tell you. I am no
friend.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
“I like cars with big butts’ she said.
“The ones with soft interiors and big joysticks
That you hold while racing down at 70 mph
Down straight highways swerving through bylanes
And bursting into breeze and wide open spaces!”
Spent. The exhausts thunder . Throttles down and grazing
Hear the sound of engines purring?
“I like the old Mustangs” she said
“They growl back at you throttle deep,
Crunching up the pussycats
Mewing on the slow lane”
“I like tequila that’s naughty
No aftertaste, a coupla shots
A hot bonnet to warm you back
And a piston that does a six stroke
Slow ride
As we race to a finish on the salt lakes”
“ Don’t you like Mercedes?” I softly queried
“ Nah” she replied curtly.
“ But it starts with an M too?”
“Oh yeah, its got no twang in it though!”
I surrendered to the sound of giggles.
We pulled up near a parking lot
And she slid into a vacant slot
Both **** and front touching.
Menagerie of cars parked perfectly.
I admired her driving skill.
Author Notes
Yeah, its about cars. Get your mind outta the gutter will ya?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
not enough casual bites to take up
a body for institutionalised continuance
and rear children and
whatever you think that means about youth's
joy of touching more than just
steering wheels and hammers
and photographs and joysticks.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
you remember the arcade
on the corner
right next to the local pizza shop
it's where you used to go
when your parents were yelling
and you didn't want to do your homework
riding your bike down suburb streets
moving gracefully between cars
waving at the neighbors when you saw them
arriving just outside
the scent of pizza grease and sweat
a comfort as you step inside
your friends are there
clustered around screaming bright boxes
quarters for eyes, joysticks for hands
you slid the cashier five dollar bills
you earned on miscellaneous chores
and your paper route
he's got a name tag
"Chad"
"Chad" will never leave his mother's basement
He hands you a quarter roll
Hands drenched in sweat and Cheeto dust
truly disgusting
but you thank him
because you were taught to be polite
and no one else is nice to "Chad"
You walk the aisles
Browsing, perusing
looking for the perfect game
Aha! There!
a new cabinet!
all alone!
just for you!
you play it, hours upon hours
lost in your virtual world
you're close, so close
the end of the game is so close
one more level!-
A hand, gruff and stern.
"Chad" stands behind you, stoic.
"C'mon, the arcade's closing.
You gotta go home."
Right, home.
You have to go home.
It's late, way too late.
Your bike sits, waiting for you.
You've gotta get home.
Home, with your parents fighting.
Home, with your homework, waiting.
Home, with your loneliness.
Too quick, you're already there.
The shouts are still loud.
They didn't even notice.
Oh well
There's always tomorrow
And the arcade will still be there.
Do you remember the arcade?
Your little escape from reality?
I wonder what happened to it?
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:37 PM UTC
He was born in Groesbeck, Texas and his name was Joe Don Baker.
Sadly, after living for nearly nine decades, he needed an undertaker.
He attended North Texas State College on a sports scholarship.
He starred in "The Living Daylights", "Cape Fear" and "Joysticks".
When I say that he was a very talented man, it's not a joke.
He died of lung cancer which proves that people shouldn't smoke.
After living for eighty-nine years, he perished and it's a shame.
Joe Don Baker was a skilled actor who was destined for fame.
May 19, 2025
May 19, 2025 at 2:38 PM UTC