"lucked" poems
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form
Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
(turning pages
of yesterday's news)
animating, culturing, bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)
His cronies
looked on
(with a twisted conviction)
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
*did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?*
The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold
Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough),
patronized the boys
and called it a night
( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
(something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot)
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
(at 8 bucks per)
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear
Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
The fiery red light was staring into my soul.
There was nobody around...
So naturally I hit the gas.
Looked up in that rear view
and some crazy blue lights were ashinin'.
Then came my swerve of shame to the beckoning curb.
My friend to the right kept his cool
While mowing down on two cheese burgers
As he ate, I shook with a casual fear.
The talk with the police was brief
I handed him my license and registration
and he skipped back over to that cop car.
I sat in fear
he ate burgers
we waited
My boy the police came right on back.
he gave me the blissful news.
NO TICKET.
He began the lecture of eating and driving.
that's when my little burger eater chimed right in.
"Sir, I was just handing her a pickle"
I confirmed the statement.
And next thing I knew I was rollin the streets again
Lucked out.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
tenderness leaves
my eyes in capillary ribbons.
your diamond lips are chalked,
released from rock.
your head, a knot of angel pine—
a dark-brown blooming
sticky and lucked to the back
of my throat.
it is in this moment that
I hear a wisp of rapture
blowing through the oak overhead.
my heart’s motor cranked
like October’s last churning
bumble bee.
*pollination
susurration
be gone…*
you kept looking past me,
your hand on my shoulder.
the precious gauze of your profile
mixed porcelain doll and found a
chisel to perfect your nose.
I feel the love of everything and
you—so unaware of your
beautiful.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
The voices in my head are extremely loud. I feel so insane because I can hardly make a sound. Thoughts of being crazy, possibly headed to the asylum now. These voices won't shut up. I get stuck up. I go from 0 to 100, it gets ****** up. Not purposely. I may be bipolar but I could care less, you see. Its up to me to control my mind. But if you think it's that easy, you've been wasting time. Thinking you're perfect? Thinking psychology ain't worth it? I lucked out, timed out, and found out...
We all need help!
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 6:31 PM UTC
I may not be gifted.
But I have this insatiable urge to be great, magnificent, and talented.
I want to inspire awe.
I want to impress not only my peers,
but most importantly myself.
I was given an amazing opportunity
to attend a superb university.
While I believe I lucked out in my admission,
I believe a blessed epoch in my life
has just begun.
I write this poem as a promise for the future.
This goal I have
is not an easy task.
It will require years
of incredibly hard work and dedication.
I will work to achieve this.
Even if I need to stay up all night and day
testing the limits of my mind,
it will all be worth it when I can look back and say:
I did it.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
I've had my share
of *** and drugs
but I'm not like
those other thugs
I'm a big fan
of rock n' roll
but I'd rather kiss you
than smoke a bowl
I spend lots of time
rockin' out
truely I'd rather
be taking you out
you're such a good girl
I'm such a bad guy
how did such a bad man
catch such a good eye?
you make me
such a happy guy
lifting me beyond
any other high
This "pot-smokin-liberal"
has really lucked out
so excited and happy
so pleased he could shout
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 8:52 AM UTC
In absence,
A lost key is only
A catastrophe,
When the door is locked from the outside,
And everything important is within.
That is when we are reaquianted,
With an old concept.
One that can occur to anyone-
If they have the mind to lose the key.
It is the called,
The snowball effect.
When we are to leave without our prizes inside.
And all that is taken for granted,
Is kept beyond the width of a door.
But most of all, there is one,
Who will again take for granted his prizes,
And lose them along the way.
And although, these are not materialistic prizes,
They are prizes of greater worth than any
Kept behind that blasted door.
When these, his friends,
Give sacrifice, and he cares not to thank them.
When these, gifts to an undeserving man,
Are asked yet again, and these favors are not repaid.
This, is the snowball effect.
Something that can occur to anyone,
-if they have the mind to take their prizes for granted
Or ever have the idiocy to lose the key that unlocks them.
For locked out he may be,
This man has lucked out.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
Cheering for the man walking slowly, deliberately, with his bag of goodies, as the light blinks in accordance to his step.
Blinking a warning of the cars to come.
Cheering for him to cross.
His waddling steps, his mismatched limbs, he HAS a place to get to. Cheering for him to get there.
Cheering for the car you can hear before you see. The ailment of technology.
Stumbling sputtering, dragging tooth and nail, over the paved street towards salvation of the station.
Grab a little air and the wheel will keep spinning. Driving off now, they have a place to go now.
Cheering for their wheeling off in peace.
Cheering for the nurse, still dressed in arms. Who sees hope and fail all day long, at days end she finds herself, a lottery ticket, or two, or three, with a little extra hope that she
will be one in a trillion.
Grabbing all the hope she can muster, just her, clenching those tickets hoping. Maybe even praying, or chant.a.lanting that this will be the one.
Cheering that the woman will find hope wherever she can.
Cheer for the family, bus tickets in hand, mother to the baby and the four in between, pressing their pass into the machine, one after another, for a ride.
Cheering for the man upstairs, rattling away in his chair. He has had loves and companions once, more mail in his mailbox once.
Cheering that a letter will suppress the downward facing etchings of his mouth.
Cheering for the girl who, sits alone on her perch, while true, thinking of falling or flying or both, from the suspended atmosphere of her perch.
Cheer for the **** cheer for the ****** cheer for the best of lucked, cheer for the cracked, cheer for the fallen, cheer for the ones that beam, cheer for the home team.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 9:14 PM UTC
The voices in my head are extremely loud. I feel so insane because I can't make a sound. Thoughts of being crazy, possibly headed to the asylum now. These voices won't shut up. I get stuck up. I go from 0 to 100, it gets ****** up. Not purposely. I may be bipolar but I could care less, you see. Its up to me to control my mind. But if you think it's that easy, you've been wasting time. Thinking you're perfect? Thinking psychology ain't worth it? I lucked out, timed out, and found out...
We all need help!
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 2:41 AM UTC
I told you to run while you could,
get out before it's too late.
because I was the friendliest to strangers
and the strangest to friends.
My heart had never been open to dividends.
But your strangeness was similar to my strangeness: pushing out of fear - or had I made you that way?
You despised Mr. Hyde more than I did, but you loved Dr. Jekyl fervently with more compassion than I could ever give him...
I told you how it sometimes felt like I was living another's life... and looking at it now it's like I was sitting on a perpetual swing: x distance forward and x distance back.
We lucked out for so long because I would pull when you would push, and when I pushed you would pull me back. And for a while we both pulled. And then forever onward we pushed. Or forever wayward. Sometimes pulling in doesn't keep people from going away. And when you push someone, you can't expect them to pull you back. Because not everyone is sitting on the same swingset.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
Our new boss is a fabulous woman
She takes the time to talk with the staff
The boss before her was a nasty man
Our work environs were as rough as chaff
Everyone is far happier with the lady boss
She listens to all our work place issues
We have lucked it for a caring boss
The department no longer needs tissues
Since they sacked that most unbearable ***
There is a good feel at our work station
Stress leave has been reduced quite a bit
All staff members are full of elation
Our new lady boss is a work place delight
We're so pleased to have her, too right!
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Frozen Bones
Mom, why my bone aches?
Why my entire body quakes?
Is this a punishment or am I out lucked?
I wish death would release me than being plucked
Mom, I don’t need drugs or chemotherapy
And no blunt hospitals or hopeless radiotherapy
Mom, before it’s too late and I’m trapped with aphasia
The life’s agonizing; please liberate my soul by euthanasia
Sorry Mom I talk so ruthless,
Nobody wishes life to be so worthless
Promise me you won’t cry when I am gone
Wherever I’d be, your life must stay on.
Your grief is giant that’s last thing I know
I wished you would have seen me for many years to grow
Oh Mom! But these poisonous bones, Why couldn’t be fixed by glue?
As ashes of those bones would immerse and my soul flew
I shall fall asleep peacefully and see a dream of glorious view
Mom, you shall be glad imagining, my life will be calm and new
My life here is nothing but the silent assembly of frozen bones
No flesh, no blood, no pain, everywhere are just peaceful zones
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
i wrote that drunk
i was trying to bypass
an impasse
lucked out and
circumnavigated the
rabbit
ran into the fox
he stole my color
only to find it again
at first light
and now i nod
to the speed of life
the unceasing turning
of greater and greater
wheels
the lightness of death
as it passes
there's no
circumnavigating
that
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 7:47 PM UTC
The only question
Echoing in my head
I guess I'll never know
Because I never acknowledged
What I had before
Even this cold heart
Wishes to cry
My mind just keeps reeling
Hoping to find out
What the hell have I done
I let you slip
Right through my closed fingers
But I knew it was meant to happen
The faint image
Was meant to disappear
My hatred for love
Clouded how I really felt
To the one person
That understood everything about me
What the hell have I done
You got away from me
Like a jackrabbit at midnight
I just wont find another
You were all I wanted
I just wanted you to be happy
I thought not once
When I decided
That you were better off
Without me in your sights
But know sorrow I can't drown
It's overwhelming me
I can't sleep it away
It has a mind all its own
What the hell have I done
You're just another ghost
I curse myself now
For being so stupid
Yet I know
Deep down
You really are better off
These walls are closing in
Telling me how stupid I am
For not trying just a little harder
What the hell have I done
Is all I can think about
I let you vanish
Into unknown land
But I'll see you soon
Someday, maybe one day
We'll cross paths again
But it's not enough
I know it's not
I can really say it now
But it's too late
Goodbye and farewell
What the hell have I done
My tongue keeps getting twisted
My eyes are vacant
My chest a hollow shell
Of what once was
I lucked out
But better yet I lost out
I'm a mess
You're not the monster
I am
What the hell have I done
**** it all to hell
I'll dine with the devil
I'll sell my soul a million times
Yet I'll still never know
I'm just a being
That deserves to die
If I say those words
I was afraid to say before
Maybe they will clear the list
No use is it now huh
You're already with him
I really lost you forever
But that wasn't the last poem
You have for me and you know it
You want to curse me
You want to break me further
I'll tell you this now
Go for it
And maybe then I will know
What the hell I have done
My body decays
Even more rapidly
My sanity
Lost at birth
Lost again when you wrote those words
We're not done
You know we're not
Those eastern winds
Will blow again
And bring your cries to me
What the hell have I done
Please tell me the answer
But you wont
You'll let me go mad
I'm just not worth it
Yoy killed my
Not the metaphor
But literally killed me
When You said
''My last poem to you''
Ha-ha it's funny
Because I thought
You already wrote it
What the hell have I done
By letting you go
I watched it all
My sweet painful torture
Shame you'll never read this
It's just another goodbye poem
That I wrote drunkenly to you
Here are the words
Read them close
The meaning is infinite
But they are true
I LOVE YOU!
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:16 PM UTC
The hippie days were rather hard
For a young guy just starting out.
Off- brand jeans and crew-cut hair
Didn’t carry all that much clout.
I was into show tunes and Elvis,
The Beatles were great and new.
I lucked right into the Troubadour
And fell in love with Elton too.
One of my ladies loved Airplane
The other loved the Monkees
The problem was that only one
Was ever approved by junkies.
But I was so squeaky clean
That I was only into cheap coffee.
I swear I could get high as a kite
On Russel Stover’s fine toffee.
But something changed for me
The day I first heard David Bowie.
It sounds kind of childish now
But he was special and so glowy.
He pointed out some dichotomies
Between what was said and done.
At that time we needed something
And Bowie was obviously the one.
I didn’t stick there with his genie
But his genius opened some doors
And affected my art and my poetry
Way back then and forever more.
So then it was Prince, The Doobies,
Aretha Franklin and Annie DiFranco.
And, of course, the one-hit wonders
About eighteen hundred or so.
It wasn’t always about music
This social code of mine.
But music underscored it all
Made even politics toe the line.
We made changes in civil rights
And even affected an evil war.
There is no reason to doubt it.
Music will continue to change more.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
I’m coming apart at the seams, because I’m picturing you in all of my dreams.
One punch and I’m down for the count, only had one chance and I lucked out.
I’m stuck in this timeless tragedy,
Guess I’ve gotta endure this insanity.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
Exhaustion settles deep within my bones
Forcing them to ache from the sheer weight of it all
As they drag this near lifeless human form from her bed
The eerie glow of the monitor strains at my eyes
Washes my t-shirt in its light alone
My hands shake as I violently type out what remains
Running to the bathroom on feet with no direction
A ghost flitting from room to room
Feet pushing hard onto the linoleum with no sensation
Quick yanked over my wet mop
A hand-dye tee
I sure did love him then
Didn’t I?
Sleeping still eludes me
Even though now there is nothing to keep me up
But that person in side my head
That never fails to stop finding things for me to think about
I am caring for a basil plant now
Not even mine I just lucked out with a patch of rocks that gets all the sun
Herbs could desire
I pluck off all the dead leaves
Water it daily
Make sure all the leaves can turn their faces towards the rays
Today is dress up day
Get out of bed
Put on your Lady face
Try again
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 12:40 PM UTC
There's nothing like,
that heart breaking feeling
of realising all your work
was meaningless.
The time and effort.
The thoughts imploded.
Cheeky grins
and hidden sighs,
wasted on an evening.
Nothing like utter failure,
to take you back to gloom.
Heart in your throat;
choking back your stamina.
What felt like a real connection,
turned into just another bottle.
Perhaps tomorrow you'll think of me,
sober and agonised.
Steal a kiss between coffee breaks,
and admit that you were scared.
But I doubt that'll be the case,
unsightly girls like I,
never get to relish in their feat.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC
Work History
I lucked into my first job
building four-letter radio station
call signs from tangled bins
of consonants and vowels.
In those days it was
all done by hand.
Sharp corners on the F’s kept you
on your toes, O’s easy to bobble
when you got careless, “slot four,
out the door!”, a newbie mnemonic
forever lodged in my brain.
I bided my time on the K line
until a spot opened on the W,
the graveyard shift. It paid
a little more, the hours going
toward my Creative License.
It was the seventies. We chewed
betel to stay awake during long
classical station runs then punched
out woozy, blind in morning sun,
fingers bleeding, teeth stained red.
Top forty, we popped ‘em out
like biscuits and squirrelled
away X’s to slip onto the ends
of freeform formats, small acts
of defiance. I quit to avoid prosecution,
nabbed sneaking parts out
in my pants, one letter at a time,
building words, paragraphs, whole
stories in my basement.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
I want to breach the walls or knock them down
Get out of here
Ride into town
And get wasted.
They say that once you tasted just a bit
The fuse is lit
That being so
Then I'm on fire.
Dire consequences shall arise
But I got moody in my eyes and I'm alight.
Can't fight this feeling,reeling
Off the floor
Out the door
I'm not staying any more
Not slowing down
Going to town
Stop me if you dare.
Stop me,
Do you care?
The candle burns
Both ends are turned against the flame
Nothing would,could stay the same
In this frame of mind
Lined and pinned within the bind of kind of
Self destruct.
Looks like I lucked out or in.
If you've never been how can you say
Right or wrong
My life,my day
My way may not be de rigueur
Is that fair
Does it matter
Will it shatter any dreams
In these unconscious streams of constancy
I wait to see
Who I will be
Tomorrow.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
Luck of the draw,
Lucked out from flaws,
Lucky is the breaking mirror.
How unfortunate for the Clover
Whose wind had brought her nearer
To the black cat,
The camp of bats,
The magpie who points destination
To a rainbow through a latter
While chirping present ticks in fascination.
How unfortunate for the Clover
Whose vision couldn’t be clearer.
She saw the birds fly west, then east;
She saw the trail the ****** left
On its rampant quest to feast
On flesh, on glass, on salt, on past
Memories of serendipity
And the seven years of misery
The mirror lost, all at the cost
Of pondering his love.
Its ink would run, and pages dry,
Its eyes would trace a butterfly
Of clouds of clay and molded slates
And the most impressive of junior art.
But it all mattered not,
For despite where was the start-
The broken reflection
Only showed a tattered angel.. with four wings-
How lucky to find a Clover here-
To have been seen by a Clover here-
To have been seen.
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 2:20 PM UTC
once again my head is buried in the sand,
and all the cigarettes i smoked and all the hearts i broke
had you feeding the whole pack to me out of the palm of your hand.
it was a stroke of luck that i lucked out, clucked out like a chicken without a head,
no direction where to go and using my feet to guide me instead.
and it was a stroke of genius that struck me out,
we twisted words we crossed arms
we bit tongues until bloOD WAS RUNNING DOWN THE SIDES
of our chins like a mudslide
and the hairs on our skin
prickled up with anxiety when we realized that this mortality is more/less a gift than a blessing,
so i'm done second guessing everything that i see.
i'm relapsing back into hiccups and cigarettes and you're relapsing back into me.
how am i to trust my eyes when the foundation of everything i once believed is now a pile of dirt?
twenty seven seconds left on the microwave and you took them for granted
just like the garden you planted to try to feel alive and alert,
but what would you with twenty seven seconds on your death bed
screaming happy crying hurt
sending fists and laughter bouncing off walls
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC