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<Loud as you can say it>
I am Outlaw!
         -call me Pirate!
I live such freedom,
         all souls admire it!
The awful God,
        has judged my soul,
Weighs his measure,
          I'll pay my toll!

<In a high-pitched voice>
The sailor's way,
        path unknown,
Stars are clouded,
        nothing shown?
The sea's are high,
        a storm is here,
Davey Jones' Locker,
        my home is near.

<Loud again, yell it>
There is no heaven,
        there is no hell,
Life on seas,
        the seas they swell,
Fish scales on arms,
         scales on my legs,
Heart born free,
         dread-locked and dregs!

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
Lost lives redeemed,
          some should admire it,
The ship upended,
          all hands to drown,
In Davey Jones' Locker,
          a peaceful sound...

<In a high-pitched voice>
The sailor's way,
        path unknown,
Stars are clouded,
        nothing shown?
My time has ended,
        fate is near,
Davey Jones' Locker,
        my death is here.

<Loud again, yell it>
I am Outlaw!
         -call me Pirate!
A man of valor,
          some do admire it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
A dreadful life,
           though some desire it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
To Davey Jones' Locker,
          my deeds require it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!

I AM OUTLAW!
          -CALL ME PIRATE!

I am Outlaw!!
          -call me Pirate!
My life on the ocean,
          my God inside it.
BOOM!
We as humans,
Always have the need to express ourselves.
So do I.
Living this lie,
Had to get it out.
Could have expected.
Maybe,
I shouldn't have put that paper in your locker.
Paul Hansford Nov 2016
(a brief love story)

1/
The morning sun warmed the dew
from the opening rosebud;
a bee visited the fragrant heart of the rose;
the breeze tumbled a petal to the water,
drifted the pale petal across the surface of the water.
You surprised me gently.

2/
I thought - hoped - the emotional baggage
was safely in the locker,
just for once,
just overnight,
but like a Houdini homing pigeon
it escaped,
it came back.
Like a smart missile locked in on thought patterns
it found the target,
penetrated the armour,
and suddenly
just after midnight
I knew how Cinderella felt,
her new world ****** back
through the vortex,
as the life we call real returned.
Suggested (not exactly inspired) by a visit to Cuba, where the local currency is the peso and the language is Spanish.  When I assocaiated "dos pesos" (two pesos) with "dos besos" (two kisses) the germ of the poem was set.
gracie Jan 22
i.
the tall, brown-eyed
scholar with tousled hair and 
endless supply of sarcastic comments; 
stolen sweaters and car rides and
cartoons. sipping hot cocoa
out of Star Wars mugs, study dates, 
playing hide and seek 
in Walmart, hugs that 
almost 
made me feel whole

first heartbreak
******* in his passenger seat because 
he "needed it”;
a lonely winter learning 
he did not love me and 
a season spent intertwined 
with a boy who could not 
fill the void in my chest.

ii.
golden hair, ocean eyes,
sunkissed skin and downtown flea markets.
threading my fingers between his
sharing our poems over skype
and 
iced coffee and patched denim and 
fresh yellow flowers stashed in my locker.
hugging in the hallway,
silly love notes and soft smiles and 
laughing so hard my ribs hurt.
a sensation of warmth that could rival 
pure sunshine

unopened texts
a subtle disconnection
i held his heart in my palm and
let it slip
harsh
unimportant
i still carry the guilt in my fingertips

iii.
overalls. shoulder-length hair, i 
fell in love with the way he said my name
strange, unrecognizable on his lips, ringing
each syllable like a pink-petal
prayer.
a thrift store parking lot, draped 
across his lap, one hand in my hair, 
the other around my heart;
stolen kisses at stoplights. shivering and 
holding each other so closely
i thought 
we might never unravel

disintegrating. distance withering away 
my heartstrings; familiar pain and
longing to be held
bitter tears and night air
stroking my hair
in place of the way
his hands made me
Ache.
an old poem. the loneliness comes and goes;
poem format inspired by haley
harlee kae Sep 2014
the bus
your old bed
watching captain america
my car
savannah's floor
the locker room
my bed
the nature trail
your new bed
your friend's bed
my new car
my new car
*my new car
Ethan S Dec 2017
Im a mile deep, still I'm shallow
A black, bitter ocean
My waves are hungry like the shadows
Starved of light and all emotion

I need solace to part the sea
Show a frozen heart the path to care
Or sink down and drown here with me
In the depths of my despair

A world upside down
Below all of the air
Devoid of needless sound
Still hitting sharper than a snare

Let the pressure overwhelm
In time we all decay
Let mother nature take the helm
And sail our ship away

Would you wade down in the murky brown?
Down in this fishy deep
No other life for miles around
Davey Jones locker where we’ll sleep

Scales and fins growing in my skin
I want a pond to rot in.
Suicides on my mind..
I wonder what it's like?
That care free eternal darkness...
No more chains or emotions,
Just a lifeless carcus.
Fed up with being down at the bottom so often,
Rotten from my date of birth..
Designed to fall from this earth..
Lost confused and forgotten,
Feeling like nothing.
Worthless and unloved..
Fed up with this life...
I'm so close to the edge...
All I need is a shuv...
A push or a touch...
Depressed in my bed...
Try to sleep my troubles away..
Maybe these pills will help?
Or maybe they won't..
I feel to go and dance on the train tracks,
Like grandad.
I used to think you'd watch over me,
Hopelessly... I was wrong.
Your dead and your gone...
You left your daughter shattered in tears..
And her son to pick up the pieces..
No help or support...
A devoured report..
Three attempted suicides my heart has been crushed..
The queen of my world reduced to not much.
******* life and the bitter taste you leave me..
All I ever did was try but words for this escape me..
So suicide is on my mind, that blissful quiet exit.
No more monetary madness no more prospect of being homeless.
I toss and turn the idea round and round my head..
Am I better off alive? Am I better off dead?
This world is harsh and cruel but I can't take my life..
My little brother needs me and so does my mum.
Endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt endless hurt
Anne Molony Oct 2017
when I told you I was *****
I was drunk and sad
and you said
that you were so sorry
and held me as  
I cried into your shoulder

you still look at me funny
you're conscious
of your hands
and voice
of whether you
reveal too much
conscious
that you shouldn't treat me
any differently

that our awkward
bus stop talks
and
empty locker-conversations
are palatable
and that the alternative
isn't

but
I wish you'd bring it up
because
I think
it feels
immeasurably worse
to move on
when we've made
such little progress
moving anywhere
that is
We were teammates
We suited up
We showed up

We weren't stars
But we rolled in the dirt
With the best of them

Our blood ran red
Like the rest of them

Our sweat tasted salty
As the most athletic of them

Wounds and bruises
Ached like the most
Stalwart of them

We were Bulldogs!
We anted up our
Gifts and talents to
Forge a winning season

A flair for humor
Wry observation,
Encouragement, fortitude
And intelligence were as
Valuable as speed,
Agility and strength

We all pined for the
Affection of cheerleaders,
Bandmembers and the
Adoration of fans

We equally joined
In the chorus of
locker room banter
And honored the
Confidence of camaraderie
Such intimacy bares

We endured thankless
Adversity, while wending
through anonymous toil

As brothers
We grudgingly drank
From the vile cup of defeat

And passed the chalice
Of victory among us
To share the savory
Taste of triumph
As champions

The Duke of Wellington
Said “the battle of Waterloo
Was won on the fields of Eton”

I trust my teammates and
Not forgotten friends
Tasted sweet victories of
Happiness and success
As they coursed through
Their prodigious fields of life

And at games end
I hope their heart swelled
With pride to know they were
A beloved and Valiant Bulldog

David Irving Korsh #75
BCSL Champion 1973
Rutherford Bulldogs

Well done Valiant Bulldog

God bless and Godspeed

Music Selection:
Bruce Springsteen
Thunder Road

5/5/18
Puyallup
jbm
the passing of a former teammate
The hanky he was sobbing into was crusty,
*****, unwashed, unclean; yet strangely comforting to a little boy,
as he cried he made his way to a culvert behind the school,
some place the other kids couldn’t see him crying,
it was more comfortable being near rocks
-next to that watershed for some reason?

He looked down at his antagonist,
the scaly-green feet,
they made him cry harder,
he lamented…

“Why have I been tormented so?”

“Who gave me these feet? Who made me this way, lizardly, scaly, an animal no?”

“What class am I, what species? Are those toenails, claws or a disease?”

“The way I’m treated makes me sad. Where is my mommy, where is my dad?

“Did I come from an egg? Didn’t we all? Why do they pick on me, make me feel so small?”

“My feet are reptilian even I can see that!”

“Am I part lizard? Are there horns on my back?”

“I can’t hide in sneakers ‘cause the claws tear them apart.”

“Not great at math, language or art.”

“They always pickin’ on me, today it’s in the schoolyard.”

“That is why I sit here on the rocks crying with my **** feet and sullen heart,”

“Cannot run fast so no baseball, basketball or soccer…”

“The other kids tried to stuff me in my own locker…”

“One mean little girl even threw a dead mouse at me!”

“But I’m only part lizard as far as I can see?”

“My English teacher says that my words are like a bird song”

“If I talk like a birdie along with monster’s feet, no wonder I don’t belong!”

“Even still, to be so mean to me, I know that it is wrong…”

“ONE DAY I WILL SHOW THEM ALL, THESE FEET THEY HAVE A PURPOSE!”

“MY WORDS OF SONG AND FEET OF MAGIC COMBINE A COSMIC CIRCUS!”

“I am no freak of nature, no forest Pan or Satyr…”

“It is not the way I look, my clothes or feet that matter…”

“It is what is in my heart and mind, the things I do that truly count…”

“For those things that make us different, for they are tantamount…”

“Seven heads, seven stages, seven fables, seven sages”

“Seven stars and seven wonders and seven heavens that we’re under…”

“And all those things they say are great and marvelous about us…”

“Will one day be written in the book by Great Old Uncle Taautus!”
Children's rhyme. Scylla represents the rocks near shores who rend ships to pieces that venture to close to them.
[email protected]$k you life and the bitter taste you leave me,
All I ever did was try but words for this escape me!!
>Pain Locker<
Locking my pain in this box [ ] ✔️
Confidence is something I seem to lack
The weight of what others think sits there on my back,
There’s nothing I can cling to to make it go away
Mirrors are my worst enemy when I think I look okay.

My face becomes hot I think I’m going to cry
Now I don’t want to be center of attention I think I’d rather die,
Just think what they could be thinking or what they might say
Rather than take the chance I think I’ll walk away.

I’d rather be by myself and just blend in with the crowd
Times like this I keep my mouth shut, I’ll be noticed if I’m loud,
I’ll just sit in my desk quietly until 2:30
Then I’ll race to my locker and it will just be me.

But I am the worst out of all the people who think
I scan every compliment and analyse every wink,
I don’t know why I let all the things get to me
What happened to the beauty I used to see.

The beauty of what I was, no matter what anyone thought
Now’s a faded memory all the positive I forgot,
Now when I walk down the halls I glue my eyes to the floor
And I try not to get stuck holding open the door.

I know it must seem sad how I torture myself
But what others think first and myself on the shelf,
I wish I had more confidence and didn’t care what others think
Maybe then I wouldn’t consider myself the weakest link.

I wish people would think before they acted and wouldn’t break my chain
If people could think about the outcome then I wouldn’t be in so much pain,
I wouldn’t think about what I wear and that I stick out from the crowd
I wouldn’t have to think twice if I wanted to be loud.

I could be as free as the sky above me & the sea below
Than if I’d never think because I wouldn’t know,
If you could support me and not criticize my style
Maybe then I could return it with a smile.
Camilla Green Oct 2017
Every day the sun stretched over the songbird’s ivory tower.
Nighttime ivy ringlets caught and pulled, like taffy,
sunshine tendrils into rocky satellite white.
She swung sunbeams into starlight
And I thought it'd drone on forever.
//
Every dawn the sun stretched over the songbird’s ivory tower.
Nighttime ivy ringlets caught sunshine tendrils,
pulled them into rocky satellite white, like taffy.
She swung sunbeams into starlight,
And I thought it'd drone on forever until

I realized that sprinkled sugar cookies made hands numb flammable,
that you can't feel them again until they leave the powder blue locker room,
until they're in the car, worried they might melt the steering wheel, when they’re left to figure out why.

Now streetlights gassed with Canadian lypophrenia
make snowflakes float like stardust,
while splintered lilac fingertips trace meaningless constellations,
as they ponder whether daisies can tell
if someone loves you,
                                       or not.

With firefly breath, I wished on dandelion dust
for December's cruel weather to warm,
so we could sleep forever on the concrete floor
and it'd feel like Pennsylvania moss and twigged leaves.
We’d swing dance in the sidewalk cracks
drowning in footsteps and manhole steam.
Saturn would bloom to petal dust in your wake
and you would never feel small.

And I thought cocoa butter was our solace,
that you'd be drenched in chocolate wishes
that turn ribboned skin to soft smile scars.
The Earth would lay enveloped and confessed-
a dripping orb of love and light thrown against
the burning oblivion of the universe.
I pull in the horizon like a great fish net
So much life in its meshes!
I call in your soul to come and see.


With the spring equinox, four-leaf clovers withered and died,
still-lit birthday candles melted into oceans
and heads-up pennies piled into roadway castles,
unwanted, unneeded by someone who forgot who she was.
I thought, for a moment, that I'd been wrong.

Within that rim of rose, there is ungravity and life on Mars.
But this world is a rememory of drought and oil spills,
drowning you in a warm, sweet, malignant blanket
of braided brown hair and tokyo tickets.
To you, my whispering lips screamed for palmers-
for 13 ounces of memories that were never mine,
and still, you slathered it on.

Our streetlights set and the sun flickered out,
the pennies I never reached for, someone else had picked up,
and the clovers I ignored, I now ached for with all my heart.
Eyes streaming, I reached for a shooting star,
but the night does end, dawn always rises,
and my precious last chance melted in my desperate hands

because i fall in love with everyone
and my lips are never chapped
  so now i eat cinnamon toast
   and I paint the sun
    with blackberry juice

In apple-killing cold, stars fade in the amber glow of tiger's eyes,
gray clouds are still bursting with starlight,
willow trees will forever weep diamonds,
and daylilies still steal away sleep.
This one's for you,
For what it's worth, I hated growing up. I was an outcast and a dreamer. I had an unrequited crush on a blonde cheerleader who probably thought I was strange.

I remember giving her a leather bracelet that she threw across the room in front of the class. I left notes on her locker... pathetic.

My nickname was 'the man from mars', because I was into mysticism and things most kids that age had no clue about.
Kind of wish my parents had given me religious formation, but my mom was a wild child.

Short version, I have always been a truth seeker and never accepted just life at face value.
the joys of mental illness and being socially awkward
to all those who are trying to survive high school, you need not prove your bravery to me
I know - it's more prose than poem - suggestions on making it sound more poetic welcome ;)
Gary Brocks Aug 2018
Goats eat and **** the grass of ramparts,
stupefied cannons sit, garrisoned sentries
primed for nights of buccaneers,
seared by centuries of sun. Down shadowed
cobblestoned tunnels fortified shutters
covet rifle forend and barrel,

wresting rumored slave rebellions
from the locker of history,
while languid waves whisper indifferently
a roll call of human cargo,
chattel displaced, cast to the sea.

Here history sways to sounds
of brown skinned children
at play in breakers,
laughing, shrieking, thrashing,
buoyed by time to this vaulted brick
reverberating chamber,

here a window’s light is cast
beckoning vision past the beach,
to seek the horizon Icarus like,
to fly towards beauty in terror where
an azure sky conjoins a turquoise bay.


Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks
160707F
Nigdaw Jun 28
I love lighthouses;
Lonely, desolate, cold
Grown out of rocky outcrops
Designed by monolithic architects,
Where only ascetic souls can call home
Their light, a beacon in the darkness
To protect sailors from the smouldering sea,
And all her whiles and trickery
One lonely light, that shines out
Like faith, like hope, like love
So mariners will not plot a course
Into the shallow depths of death,
Book a room in Davy Jones’ Locker.
Callie Richter Oct 2017
I was born on April 5th in Harlan, Iowa. I've always hated when snow is still sitting on the ground by then.
My mom never once showed me affection, bringing me to parties and leaving me with strangers.
What about my dad, you ask? I'll dig in my desk drawer and find the piece of paper that lists seven possibilities because I've always craved what I'll never have.
But on a happier note, I was adopted as a three-month-old baby.
I spent my childhood with my nose shoved in a book way above my expected reading level.
By the fourth grade, I was in love with sports, especially, soccer.
My alcoholic grandpa was by far my biggest role model because I could only see light in people at that age. About once a season I'd see his rickety old truck pull up on the wrong side of the field to get a front row seat of my soccer game.
When I was thirteen my grandpa passed away. I still watch every Cubs game for him and dream of travelling the east coast like he always used to do.
By the time I was fourteen I was into the most popular things at my high school, they definitely weren't in my best interest. You see, I've always tried too hard to fit in.
Yes, I'm hearing all this about who you used to be, but Callie, who are you now?
Who am I now?
Well.
My name is Callie.
Calista Carol Leanne when moms mad.
My favorite color is light blue.
I have an older brother, whom I love dearly.
I love watching football and screaming at the t.v. during any Dallas or Iowa State game.
I'm proud of my home team in every possible sport and cheer as loud as I can when we're winning and even when we're not.
I love watching That '70s Show while sipping an Arnold Palmer.
My home away from home is walking the beaches of Okoboji until it gets chilly enough to start a bonfire.
My biggest passion is, by far, playing soccer. I love the feeling of strapping on shin guards and tightening cleats before I run out of the locker room all hunched over trying to get my hair in a ponytail and get outside so I have enough time to warm up before practice.
I wake up every single morning to my alarm of my favorite music with a smile on my face ready for the day to begin.
Stop.
I said who are you now?
I mean really. Who are you?
Who am I now?
Well.
Sometimes I dream about getting married to some boy without a face, just to take his last name and rid the sin that comes along with being a Richter.
I cried in the bathroom stall at school the first time I heard a rumor that was spread about me. I tell everyone that by now I'm used to it, but the truth is each one buries me again.
I throw myself into physical activity and school sports because the sweat and heavy breathing puts my mind at ease and gives me a sense of accomplishment. Throwing myself into my school work obviously, doesn't have the same effect.
The boys at school still give me side glances, give me propositions, and make wisecracks about me being easy because maybe they'll have a chance, not to date me but to get with me because of rumors they heard over a year ago.
I'm so insecure about so much of myself that most days I would much rather crawl under a rock and die than show my face in the hallways between the bells.
Don't tell anyone I told you this though.
You must keep it a secret.
I mean, what would people think if they knew?
I think it's better off that they just see me as...
My name is Callie.
Calista Carol Leanne when moms mad.
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