"lox" poems
I am a white, Jewish girl from Florida.
Hit me.
Hit me with your white girl jokes,
Your Jewish American Princess stereotypes.
I will giggle and squeal right along with you.
Because yeah,
I do order white chocolate mocha frappuchinos from Starbucks,
I Instagram pictures of my nails,
I take selfies, whiten my teeth, straighten my hair,
Shop at Forever21 and drink Naked Juice like it is my job.
Yeah, my daddy buys me things,
I don’t pay for my data plan,
There’s no way in hell I would drive a sedan,
I wear Nike shorts and avoid any nearby cameraman,
And let me tell you, I love jamming out to old school Britney Spears.
Hit me one more time, because none of that means I am any less intelligent,
Any less diligent,
Any less likely to face judgment
Than any other slice of diversity around me –
I am a white, Jewish girl
My nose is not its own cartoon,
I eat bagels (but I absolutely hate lox),
I’m not tan or even the least bit tinted,
And god knows I don’t wear Uggs.
Tell me I need to get married young,
Major in business,
Wear clothes that leave me airless,
Get some of that European gracefulness,
But don’t tell me I’m dumb.
Don’t tell me I’m not thoughtful.
I’m a white girl.
Take a glance at my resourcefulness,
Understand my goals of being ambitious,
Get rid of your own stereotype-inducing cockiness,
And notice me in all of my flawlessness.
Because I am a white girl,
And I am unique, strong, inventive,
Empowered, passionate, adventurous,
Indomitable, unbeatable.
I am an individual –
Not part of some whole that you put me in to stabilize your mold,
Not the example of a societally scatterbrained ***** meant to be your centerfold,
Not a previously worn-out piece of clothing thrown to the gutter unsold,
Rather a human being of my own rules and my own morals
A human being with ideas and intelligence and power,
A white, Jewish girl,
A person.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
I stare, intently. He glances momentarily.
With its big calf eyes,
the skin peeling away from its lids
and its hides.
They float by, I gaze quickly at their popped peepers
which are skinned like white grapes,
and they go about their day.
I love them, them and their color palate,
their unique selection.
Bloated and baggy, bubbling up,
it looks so goofy that I cannot stand it.
My mouth gapes at the dazzling gold bands,
the alternating tan lines, the glow-in-the-dark marks,
the cool blues and the light blues alike.
They seem startled and pouty. But what to do about the ****
They cannot leap the glass and twirl with us,
dance with me, fly past the current ripping by.
Poor things…how they wish they were wild,
undomesticated and free. They want to be near us.
I see it in the gestures of their prehensile *****
that smear the glass as they press in,
trying to chart our turbulent patterns.
I wonder in my head how they breathe so easily,
flopping about their blue-tinted box,
drinking deep the LOx
fed in through a tube somewhere
as the world morphs and vibrates between us.
It is full of grey energy. Like a cloud in a lightning storm. Ever changing.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
I.
Sunday mornings in Vancouver
even pigeons sleep in till 10 A.M.
Undaunted, I walk down Granville shortly before 8
seeking lox bagels with capers, red onions and cream cheese,
two breve lattes, and a newspaper. In truth,
panhandlers on the corner of Robson
have far greater chance of scoring.
An unexpectedly sunny February morn
suffices to spur me on. I am attuned to all vibration.
Breath of the awakening city
exhales manna upon the shop awnings.
Bagels rendered superfluous,
I scarf images instead ---
trolley buses, an umbrella shop, falafel stands ---
delicious Canadian visual cuisine.
II.
Vancouver is a nymph. Of that I'm sure.
I hear flirtatious giggles trill
from darkened alleys between hotels.
Spotted her once across the street on Dunsmuir,
seated on a walk bench reading a Margaret Atwood novel.
Bus passed between us and she vanished.
Caught a later glimpse through the window
of a walk-up dim sum restaurant in Chinatown.
Flew the stairs, only to find an empty table and
discarded napkin smudged with candy pink lipstick.
She watches me.
III.
Turns out there are no Sunday morning papers in Vancouver,
but I locate the bagels and espresso backtracking on Helmcken.
The barista smiles as I approach, sets down her Atwood novel.
I leave a Toonie in gratuity.
B.C. wind pushes hard on my turned back,
as I rush our breakfast back to the Executive.
A nymph goes roller-blading by toward False Creek.
The Gastown Steam Clock whistles that it's 10 A.M.
A flock of pigeons lifts in flight.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 2:04 PM UTC
**** blocked by
wannabe rock stars
in tube socks
standing on the block
like the 2001 Rock
ready to drop candy *****
and knock blocks off of
those who would mock
**** strap wearing
disk jockey’s –
cocky cockney Spock impersonators
lock glocks in boxes so the foxy chicks
won’t flock to the professed
smock of Sherlock Holmes
or dock their paper ships
on the jagged rocks
jutting up from the oceanic
tectonic plate –
frocks adorned with Reeboks
shock the locksmith
busily hocking his shops’
noxious fume makers
while the unorthodox musk ox
in bobby-socks
gently rocks
to the sounds walking out from
the talking box –
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
Today I am slickly coated
with the sheen of a long walk,
only holding hands with purpose;
the goal to find it.
The destination that holds promise
according to the latest yelp reviews-
promise worth remembering
while bearing the heat of the summer subways,
the morose and lonely feeling
of watching a couple cling to each other
as the trains swing our bodies around.
When the stench of the city streets-
the receptacles for those
who can't wait any longer,
invade our noses like they were home.
The promise that morphs into ringing
in my head when my stomach grumbles
next to the carts on the sidewalks
with the burning flesh they call halal meat,
smells warm and familiar
sharing shish kabob kisses and chicken knishes,
but I've left those days behind me.
Now I'm scouring the streets of Brooklyn,
for that new chic creperie sans animals,
things with faces, or friends if you will,
screaming "Find me!"
whilst dodging the heady scents of Popeye's,
and bacon egg and cheeses,
meat markets, fish markets, bright moving ads,
of women ******** clad eating burgers.
Would you like lox or sturgeon with that bagel?
and when I do get to the little mom-and-pop
of a hole-in-the-wall cafe,
I think of the carnivorous brothers and sisters
that have had the meatballs to join me.
The countless nights I've had to explain
where I get my protein from,
that yes, I can eat pizza.
And no, it's not a travesty
that I want to give up cheese.
Because the real travesty is in the this country's handling
of living things, and by animals- I mean all of us.
And carnivorous brothers and sisters,
when you're feeling threatened and defensive- and you've got
guilt and entitlement coursing through your
friend-fed veins and thus you claim,
We're shoving our vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian
efforts down your throats.
Think again and know that we're only doing the best
we can to help what we believe in.
That we eat and live
with purpose and promise in mind.
Real women can eat vegetables too.
You can take vegetarians to barbecues.
Trust me, we're good at co-existing,
Are you?
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
No one dies twice, keep living each momement, making love and money, heel to toe, step by step, always ahead, stopping only for poached eggs, buttered toast, and grits, reading the Times, sipping coffee black, a cab to the Park Avenue office, calls to Lisbon, meetings with subordinates throughout the day, sometimes laughter, sorrow lurking bemeath smiles, all the while pretending, Central Park filled with joggers, solitude in the sky, a bagel with cream chesse, capers, and lox, a new tie at Brooks Brothers, memories of Andover, sun-bleached benches, Columbia beating Princetion, Harlem hidden, a chapter or two of Dostoyevsky, daydreams of ecstasy, a hotel room at the Pierre in mid-afternoon, her golden hair brighter than the sun, covering her shoulders and one of her young ******* the rest for loving, an endless stream of searching souls, thousands making millions on Wall Street, vapid, vacuous, empty endeavors, dinner at 21, a long stroll up 5th Avenue to 63rd, back home that had never had been a home, a kiss on his wife's cheek, she always meek, no one dies twice.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 1:26 PM UTC
i suspect we blend in like flies
against these carpets
and if we really needed to
could we escape the rat race
and trace our steps back to better days
for we are finally returning
from all these labyrinths and mazes
stronger than we entered
with feathers and bone settled in stone
our world is fornicating
on the lustful wings of birdsong
and the yurts we called our home
have all been torn like thorns from a rose
i suppose you may know this already
but a long time ago i swore to ignore our fate
still the stars in your eyes look dry today
and why haven't you watered them already
so let's forget the weather and dance in the rain
as if our painful stories were a virtuous thing
like a tree in need of a companion
our fantasies remain shelf stable
until they are blended in our beverages
have we outgrown this atavistic economy
that has become swollen like cottonwood
that was stolen from the heat of summer
while you fed me lox and bagels
i said please send me all your angels
and trying to build an empire out of ego
is the most pointless of endeavors
yet most beings persist on doing this
until they inevitably expire
why do we care to reveal our thoughts
when we could listen to truth like it was on fire
and if you wish to dangle yourself
from the edge of that wire
than who am i to try and persuade you not to
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
Love Drain
love made in violent vain
I Love You like rain to surface
Fall with purpose to soak in your surplus
The center of My Force My Revolution shall swell
Eyes high rise toward your eminence and grassy swale
Riding the current of your emotion to cool the hot springs
I dilate in your atmosphere and precipitate in the fruitful crescent
I and You and doves so blue souls cry 2, eye pour through effervescent
eMotions are omens & they are super fictitious holograms of Our notions
Mere bubbles between bed sheets fun loving like stubble against peach cheeks
As I meringue on your meridians and salsa on equinox rusty chains and locks
Oxidize wonder why the tied boat rocks el nino blood rush through; paradox
Windy lox mingle and meddle, moving Our bits around where they settle
So forlorn when we change our minds these sandy sheets return in time
More than a marriage some say mysterious formations most lascivious
You carry a womb-full, ***** whales snail hermits and sea serpents
The swollen members of loves winter and a bed to lay Our head
As you satallite through solar wind to excite my Skye
In thought mine cloud cover your spots, fly
In estuaries lakes Love drain over Thee
The seven sides of You and I
We ride mystic gravity
Nonexpeditiously
Pitter patter
Violet Rain
Droplets
Because
Love is.
To me
Purple
Sake
dribblesdripripples umakemecom plete ly magnetic 2 ur molten hotpocket
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
Hot and fresh
steam exposed
center when
the crisp shell
is hand cracked
or gently sliced
Lox, cream cheese,
butter or jam
Sides of bacon,
sausage or egg
adorn the soft
middle in
sandwich form
From Poland to N.Y.
with all your
varieties, you truly
hold your own.
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 4:29 AM UTC
Riddle me this, said the fish to his friend
wondering plight, so near to the end
What will we be, when it's all said and done?
fertilizer for fields, or lox for bagel or bun?
A brunch for a bear, or dinner for eagles?
bigger hungrier fish, or breakfast, for Sméagol?
His friend pondered, a second or two
I'm up for spawning, how about you?
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 8:41 AM UTC
Twinkle twinkle little star humpty dumpty fell a bit hard rocker by baby on the tree top see crusty the clown never knew when to stop.
Up above the world we smile little red riding hood should have learned how to ride, and get far away from the wolf that made her cry.
Three blind mice could never play only hide from the farmer’s wife who was always holding a knife.
See she was ****** she never cared they were blind. Until the three little pigs came running came along and tried to blow her house down.
With marry who had a little lamb that was the plan. But Goldie lox came up with another plan she took the spider and washed it down the drain.
She had the munchies she found the roach she had dropped, broke into the house ate all the porridge ate the lot.
The bears went crazy like everything looked hazy bed broken food missing someone was searching?
Old mother Hubbard spend all her life searching every cupboard, But she lived in a shoe who would of knew nursery rhymes could twist you.
Jidos Reality 15.9.12
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
Another Mother,
please
don't bother
The Bird buddy
such anger
management
for the human,
we are____
((Free birds))
Locked the
Queen Parliament
All humans\//
are the caged ones
(Tweets) fanatically
insane feet
Bird Fever
twiddle dee___*
her satin sheets
(fiddle me)
Mr. Brando bird can see??
Bird front
breasted docks
Cardinal Pope
flocks of Coo
Moo clocks
Commando Crumbs
Crows feet heavy
metal big bro beat
Angry tears of a clown
The tweet's on twitter
Rap brother
Big! brother Nomad
named Conrad_______?
The kiss it never
felt like this
(Ann Margaritas))
Polly crackers
and French Brie
Terrible two
tweets/ angry-fits
All she does is sit
High flight buns
poppy seeds
I'm a free bird.
Please, no cages
Holy **** wages.
Conrad Birdie
the
army got
you now.
Diamonds
bird created
Rubies
Billy Crystal
bye, birdie.
Got stuffy
Pyshco bird
shower but___
She eats like a bird
zombie pantry.
Those breadcrumbs
4 seasons
Bird feet seedy
The Gordon Fisherman
Starfish in her girdle;
Angry dogs of beagles
Jewish Bagels from
Brooklyn cream
cheese and lox
What a bird **** puddle.
That security guard he
pecks and nibble
The bicycle she still
peddles at Peddlers
A whole bird village
Pa. Ha Ha
Papas and the mamas
There slowing me down
turtles imagine
me and you I do.
I think about you every
Rooftop twittering
I need a lighter
No birdy littering
Wheres my bird waiter
Dorothy Rainbow
lorikeet
Brother, we
don't need to
escalate
Robin Red Breast
The Ladybirds braveheart
Solomon Island
movie part
The Rainbow
Lorikeet
She swept him off
another tweet
Down to the rainforest
Purple Prince
looked at her feet
girls so bitter
Her coffee
Freely and lightly
He went over to her
and said
Your coffee is
for the birds' sweetie
She said tweet tweet
You'll never be my bird
Angry is the word
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
Six feet below in a wooden box,
Lies the stunningly beautiful Amillia Lox.
She reluctantly left her mortal life,
By her secret admirer with a gleaming sharp knife.
He crept through her window but she woke up too late,
Her parents had found her in a decapitated state.
Now here she is, Amillia lox.
Six feet below in her wooden box.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Another heart for her,
Love Doves
summer rules her
weather
The winter door locked
Don't bother the others
Bird buddy parody
He can't go
*****
Artsy daisy
for the human,
we are____
((Free birds))
Locked Dove keys
Someone got lazy
Forst Hills Queen's
Chastity Lock by her clock
All humans the champions
the caged ones
(Tweets) fanatically
insane feet
Her Flamingo sheets
The rain in Spain
Bird front near the docks
Cardinal Pope stay mainly
flocks of angry birds
Of the plain
Feathered brain
flew South on the
Chattanooga train
He's gone with
the Scarlet wind
Angry chicken neck
Angry tears of a clown
The tweet's on twitter
angry singer
Rap brother
Big! brother
named the champions_______?
Ballerina steps
group Queen
Bird at the least
she naps
Polly Pigeon toes
He hooknose nest
Please, no cages
and her bird
**** wages.
Conrad birdie Hootie
****** in
Springtime attention.
Ancient times mythical
keys and hot
heavenly seeds
Jewish Bagels Canarsie
Brooklyn cream
cheese and lox
What a bird **** puddle.
That security guard Big Bird
Sesame Street all John's
imagine
The bird beats Abby road
What bird crap to
kiss a toad
Wheres my bird waiter
Key West alligators
Robin Red Breast
Solomon fantasy Island
No man no God
Word is the (God) bird
He flew me hard
Running like a chicken
without a bird head
The rainforest
looked at her feet
Please the lock
Dove keys
Her coffee
Bird Bed breakfast
Stay leave the seeds
Blueberry Blue Jay
He went over
to her
and said
Your coffee is
for the birds' just pay
She flew her big nest
She locked his keys
Those bird prayers
really work
she is here to stay
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 5:10 PM UTC
I could pen you aesthetic poems, my moon, that may sound out of tune in your ears,
But I will etched it intricately to unveil the runes with the magic of my heart.
I will write painless words in verses about you with my angst about how I feel.
A crude balderdash I will bleed to evince the unspoken message of my love;
‘Cause I love you like my pen I use to cast love dusts to ghoulish mess,
And I love you like how the unlovely chaos turned into divine.
Like masterpieces I have read from famous poets in the land,
That is as beautiful as the way your soul shone upon.
Like the love of a frustrated damsel for her pen and paper,
I long for my name to be immortalized in your memory.
My love, I love you like poems bestrewed with elixir, never-ending,
For as long as I have life, I will inscribe my love for you deep in my soul,
In my mind and my heart, that even death cannot nullify.
Hear the silent intertwining piece of a loving poetess.
~lox albi
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
That's who I am!
Vicious as a wolf, yet gentle as a lamb,
Humble like the Son of Man,
I like to rap, sing and do work with my hands.
I'm strong as an ox,
cunning as a fox,
Fascinated by dread lox, tattoos and thick multicoloured socks.
I like to joke around,
I hide a lot pain with smiles,
I know someone else can relate to that,
I know I'm not an only child.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
Stepping to the beat, without my feet, so sweet, but deadly unique,
Freak a chick, who dont speak, english dutch to spanish,
See my third leg vanish, outlandish, skillz I didnt plant it,
But I'm a captain, watch me land it, no airplane, puff jane,
It's insane, off the grain, season yokes, for the snowy cane,
Picked the range, over the lexus, haters, welcome to texas,
Plex against us, watch the heat bust, over 300 Celsius, trust,
The feelings I push, watch ambush, chaos, in the land of Kush,
Crush dramas, meaner than a, aggravated llama, calm ya,
Every ya verbs, meditate the herbs, knocking out all pervs,
Suckas get served, cant shake the bell curves, see the nerves,
Of steel grow, from those standing, as a distance so, the more,
The pain, the looser the gain, struggling for domains,
It's a like a police refrain, looking for soaked, up drug drains,
Rhyme stitches increases, this for my nephews and nieces,
Check the thesis, top rap digging in ya, telekenisis, pieces,
Of my poetry, left ya in feces, cant stop the rap carniches,
Glitches, pitched nothing but riches, flawless no shining this,
Ludacris, number spot got ya spot blotched, who could knock,
Take my top spot, we got it locked, like the Lox, hold glocks,
With more heat, to beats, then streets, than flings of rock,
Cant block, the hustle out muscle, any thin vessel, measure,
My treasure, against the flawless, nights of pleasures,
Loose ends, make for loose skins, check my rims spin,
At least 600 classes in, session, mic killer, with no aggression,
Mics I dig, contagious as Mr Biggs, split, ya dot now ya got red wigs,
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 11:05 PM UTC