"longshot" poems
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.
Logan Robertson
6/6/2018
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
Constructioned paper
With spools of colored
Nails to ***** together a longshot drive Autobiographical predicamentals, (k’s roll hard in *****
Be careful, this system telekinetics, some see as a simple communications mechanism is used as weapon by the powers that be that have Molded themselves into of a bunch of specialist.
I'm still living, so far all i've learnt is
Motive
Freedom kilt a lot of
Shut the **** ups.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
Why do people
carry umbrellas?
I wonder as I pull the
hood of my sweathsirt
over the messenger cap
that covers my day-old hairstyle.
Rain bounces from
the synthetic-wool weave
on the bill of
that messenger cap
missing my face by a longshot.
So I walk
upright and smiling
to class
in the rain
while people cower under their umbrellas.
Silly people.
Buy a messenger cap.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 12:11 AM UTC
some cast lines into swift rivers
or vast seas of uncertainty
while others throw nets toward
rich stores of earthly treasure
ships piloted by the heart,
steer in fruitless pursuit
of elusive schools of love
a doughty fool forever waits
to harpoon longshot luck
a happenstance filled fate
Godly men cast nets
among flocks of people,
for they alone produce the
bountiful yields of bursting nets
for sons of Jonah and Ahab
a fruitless watch is foretold
self love’s only triumph
is a loveless end
remain a solitary fisher
gliding by on birch bark canoe
minding a compass of faith
Taj Mahal
Fishin Blues
jbm
NYC
4/9/89
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
Learning what we thought before;
ceasing to think it anymore.
Observing past Observors;
ashamed and change.
Never to be alone again.
Observing the observor with more complexity.
A humanoid radio.
Somewhere in the nexus of observation,
a tiny event, a mini, invisible lilliputian occurs.
A result- self emerges but never stays.
Interference on one city frequency.
Happening as an impossible longshot.
Straight flush losing, to another, a higher.
A space between invention and deterioration.
We, highest expression of what we know.
Sleepwalking.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
i spent hours looking at engagement rings
trying to find the perfect one for you
imagining just how big your smile would be
when you found out it was true
best friends till the end and even then
our interests would carry on through
i'm living three years in the future
with love and best regards perfect pairs come in two
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
**All Hours of the Night
there's a war going on inside us all
don't get up...
I brought a storm chaser to deter the turbulence
I know the effect of a lightning strike
that's my love smeared everywhere
If I could channel the glow that powers the well
where beautiful grows in the eyes of of a girl
who believes in a boy
that digs her mind more than her behind
til it's pipe time...
between me and the walls
I need a big score
I could double down on the underdog
everyone leans on the longshot
false hope
false God
I bet on love... I always bet on love
there are no shortcuts
you believe in ya boy like smart is ****
I wanna stand
with more than my mishaps in my hand...
an educated man
before your open book
and scale the pages in braille
with my big imagination
what does it say in there
about mind ****** before marriage
I'm not settling on secondhand joy
If I could just channel the glow...
and if I could recall the way to its light source;
love is the one thing
no other divine thing persists without
All Hours of the Night
there's a war going on inside us all
don't mind me...
I sleepwalk around in my sin
every mortal moment and again
that rust colored stain on the corner
is what's left of my lust;
can't be rinsed away
a trick I should have never entertained
any ****** could tell
it's always love
streaming live in hi-def through your brown eyes
if I could direct the energy
that mains the intensity
it takes to unbreak a guiltless heart
the bass would pulsate like saintly drums;
biblical horn sections
don't get up...
His Majesty will find you
between me you and the walls
I need a big score
more than pipe time most mid-mornings
I could have gone against the odds
if the purse were the purpose
I'm not a gambling man
I'm not afraid of being the favorite
or favoring one thing
love is the one thing
no other divine thing persists without
you are my one thing
All Hours of the Night
our glow powers the well
where beautiful grows in the eyes of a boy
who believes in a girl
more conscious of his brilliance than his abilities
I believe in us. Smart is ****
this book is about you
all verses in cursive and indelible ink
the master key
the last and only link to the hilltop
I bet on love... I always bet on love
your lifeline is the way to its light source
no shortcuts
my world in the palm of your hand
your touch alone
is why I know the effect of a lightning strike...
there's a war going on inside us all
less settling than white noise by now
I've learned to ignore the static**
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
I have made mistakes, every single day and I have fail every day.
Here on the earth, I fail Christ every day I make mistakes as well.
For to follow Christ does not make you Perfect, not in a longshot.
But it does make you persevere till the end while we live here.
We all sin, but what matters the very most is here on the earth.
Not how we are sinless, but how many times we get back up.
After we have fail a thousand times we get back up 1001 times.
For until we make it to the heavens above, there we become sinless.
For this is our training fields, to let Christ Light glow within us.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
We must have love suggested now and then,
Believing it exists despite the pain--
A longshot or illusion I suppose,
The fool's lost invocation, Pan's lament,
Come up to something more than harmony
On fractured lines where we invented words,
Then tore them up, a beautiful display
Of broken things like hearts & window panes,
Notes hanging low and bent beneath the sky
We're also told is nothing more than dust.
But I insist it's there, so blue today.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC