Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jami Samson Jun 2013
Instead of a red cape is a plain T-shirt and shorts,
Accompanied by a smile that can make a heart fly;
Beneath all this is my superman.
He may not be unbeatable in all sports,
But he doesn't even have to try.
Because no matter what, I'm still his biggest fan.

Laser eyes and X-ray vision,
Or even eyes that could see the future;
These are nothing, compared to his eyes.
Just staring at them gives me satisfaction
Than staring at any other picture.
Because in his eyes, I can see that love lies.

His hands aren't bullet-proof;
They can't stop a crashing plane,
Nor can they bend gold.
But my reasons are way over the roof,
That even through a hurricane,
It's still his hands I want to hold.

Super strength or super speed,
The ability to fly or to travel through time;
All of these, he has none.
But there really is no need;
I'd still write him poems that rhyme
Because his power on me, will never be gone.

So who cares if he really isn't a superhero?
Kryptonian or not,
Still, on Earth he was sent;
Not to be everyone's superman,
But to be my one and only hero.
He's the best weapon I've got.
Lois Lane may have her own Clark Kent,
But I have my own superman.
#5, 2011
tread Jan 2013
**** angles.
This house has got plenty of **** angles. Tom knows, I don't. Tom knows more about that kinda stuff because that's Tom's forte.
Old Cochrane.

I'm not sure what disabilities he suffers from, but to be honest it doesn't seem much like he suffers. He's just a dude with a loud set of brains fixated on a very Cochrane world, sort of like Plato I guess, beard and everything, looking at the angles and strange asymmetric dots with a feeling that there’s some preternatural 'other world' where all of Cochrane's expectations are met and this house as well as the world would do ******* well to abide by it if it knows what's good.

Old Cochrane loves Superman Returns. I once saw him watch Superman Returns 3 times in one sitting, to the point that it became Superman Returns Returns Returns and for Chrissake if Metropolis were real I doubt his ethics would be much appreciated anymore but hey, who am I to say? I'm no Clark Kent but I'm sure Cochrane thinks he is, and if he's damnwell Plato he can damnwell be Clark Kent just as well as the next Kryptonian sucker to crash-land on planet Earth, and it's damnwell possible Cochrane is from Krypton for all I know, he's got some miraculous will-power and push, that's for **** sure.

He's always yelling, 'ober-der! Ober-der!' like he's some sad German screaming at the **** Poles across the Oder-Neisse line as if it were there **** fault. It's either that or Krypton is ober-der and he just wants to go home, or maybe his face gets red because he knows damnwell where Lex Luthor is hiding and he just wants our ******* help finding him.

I think Old Cochrane has a crush on Kevin Spacey.

I wouldn't know, but I'm making that assumption *** Cochrane looks pretty spacey sometimes.
Okay, that was just a bad joke. I'm not too good at jokes.

I have two coworkers named Ryan. To avoid any confusion we all just call them by their last names, Soprovich and Danyluk, but most of the time we just call Soprovich Ryan Sop, and I'm not sure if he much appreciates the nickname. Our bosses name is Pam Wadden and in response to her calling him Ryan Sop he asked if he could call her Pam ***.
Pam didn't hear that of course, but I heard it. And it was at that moment I made the judgement that old Ryan Sop is good at jokes.

Anyways to slide back to my point, once I was working with both Danyluk and Soprovich and as I was leaving, to shave a few seconds before my bus, I said, 'Bye.. Ryan..s'
that made them both laugh a little so I quickly made the judgement that I'm sometimes good at jokes but I never mean to be which is kinda Zen I suppose. Buddhist effortless effort or whatever they damnwell call it.

I've always been somewhat of an intellect, but not usually of my own freewill. I read a lot, but I sort of read like a ****** addict shoots-up.. just one more line, just one more paragraph.. and before I know it I've finished a book that kinda scared me but good ******* the high was fine.

I guess it's not really like that at all, but I like to think of it like that sometimes, it kind of excites my stomach in the good way, makes me feel like some ******* rebel reading **** the government has probably already burned or recycled into the paper bags I shop with at Safeway..
shopping at Safeway.. livin' life the Safe Way.. gatherin all the grosh-rees, yeah, you ****** know me
I forgot to mention I'm somewhat of a part-time rapper and 40% of the time I have rap lyrics pulsing through my head as my own inner monologue. I dunno why but it's always kinda made me proud to think the way I do and ******* does life get high and low and if you understood you would know what I'm talking about, but I know you probably know what I know, I just like to be a little pretentious about that kinda stuff *** if I pretend I'm the only one it kinda manifests in my attitude and I get girls easier.

True story.

Maybe.

Probably not, but if ya see what I'm getting at that assertion is part of the pretention *** I'm a ******* hipster for Chrissake, writing like J.D. Salinger, reading like Kerouac without the squinty drunk eyes of infinite sadness.
Ben Estrada Jul 2018
I may not be as fast as a bullet from a gun.
I don't get my powers from standing in the Sun.
I may not be as powerful as a locomotive train
or have bullets ricochet off me and not feel the pain.
I may not be able to scale a building in one leap
or function on less than four hours of sleep,
but, whenever you need me, I'll run as fast as I can,
and I'll stay up with you and watch the stars span.
I'll stay right beside you to help you be strong,
and I'll help endure your hardships, no matter how long,
because I don't need super hearing to listen to your voice
or Kryptonian intelligence to make such a choice.
Because when I see you there smiling, it's like looking at the sea,
and I know not even Superman has anything on me.
07/21/2018
I always pictured
angels as a sort
of apperceptive helicopter,
Kryptonian psychiatrist
or interdimensional fallguy.
But mute angel of mercy
suppressing suspiration,
who withheld their number
& was on the line for
seconds at 7
a.m. this morning was you,
I knew
it, checking I was alive
after my BPD jive.

Like a thumbsup from
Lottohanded giddy aunt God, profound
as Enceladean heavenplumes
organic compounds
bead. But I'd rather
discover there was still life in our
remaining *-X'd
petnamers & injokers,
exchanging angel orca,
our kremlinology of ultrasound Eros.
Awaking next to you
- phew!
After a febrile siesta,
like a jammy sailor

shipwrecked upon the shore
of home of all places.
Snug as alien orcas under
Europa's ocherous linea, chaos
terrain, in Jovian lunar caverns
measureless to mantas down
to a sunless sea, our
mooner's pod duets
in cryptolect,
tho' my mooner's
pods
recede,
wellhung as Orko
at proto-razbliuto,

fond-to-neutral farewell in your
plaint. You have no
right to resist my other
worlds, clam up on our orca argot.
I am your Stalker God,
you my orca pod
centrefold,
who checked I was alive
after my BPD jive.
I love you so much I'll leave you on hold.
Eruptable,
undumpable,
how can you resist
an interpersonal terrorist?
My hands are numb, my body rigid, my breath as cold as ice
Your glance burns through me like heat vision, oh God! It feels so nice
Your touch can bring me to the ground, puts the high flying to a stop
I'm sweating all over, my stomach disagreeing, I'm jittery like a prop
You smile, with a slight tilt of the head, a punch to my flailing might
I'm Superman, the Kryptonian and you are my Kryptonite.
Love gives immense strength, heartbreak takes it away.

— The End —