"matinees" poems
found: parts of you that are unpretty.
broken ***** fingernails.
sticky substance, underside of wrist.
something broken, something blue.
found: god, in pieces.
trembling for the sweetness of it all.
trembling for herself.
found: your saviour, all black and blue.
all dust and wind.
all “everything i’ve ever dreamed of.”
material of matinees.
found: you, you, you.
your entirety, your serious.
something bitter and beautiful.
something like you.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
I want to go back
To Crackerjacks
And KoolAid on ice.
Ice cream sandwiches
And Chick O Stick candy.
That would be so nice.
Double feature matinees
At the local movie show
With cartoons in between.
Car crashes and then the
Cliff hanger serials
Were the best we’d ever seen.
Things like snow days, and
Skinny dipping swimming holes
Great on hot summer days.
And matchbook motors
On the spokes of our bikes
After school every day.
Snow cones and soda pop
Then we turned in the bottles
For two pennies to by sweets.
Snowball forts in the winter time
That were serious business
On every neighborhood street.
Things were so simple then
We each had a list of what
We wanted Santa to bring.
Some wanted ritzy stuff
And others only wanted
A **** Tracy decoder ring.
Life was almost all about
Going to school and then
Waiting for classes to let out.
And though there are joys
For grown girls and boys
It felt good to run and shout!
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
THE bronze General Grant riding a bronze horse in Linc-
oln Park
Shrivels in the sun by day when the motor cars whirr
by in long processions going somewhere to keep ap-
pointment for dinner and matinees and buying and
selling
Though in the dusk and nightfall when high waves are
piling
On the slabs of the promenade along the lake shore near
by
And make to ride his bronze horse out into the hoofs
and guns of the storm.
I cross Lincoln Park on a winter night when the snow
is falling.
Lincoln in bronze stands among the white lines of snow,
his bronze forehead meeting soft echoes of the new-
sies crying forty thousand men are dead along the
Yser, his bronze ears listening to the mumbled roar
of the city at his bronze feet.
A lithe Indian on a bronze pony, Shakespeare seated with
long legs in bronze, Garibaldi in a bronze cape, they
hold places in the cold, lonely snow to-night on their
pedestals and so they will hold them past midnight
and into the dawn.
1.3k
I think
your back still arcs
like a feather.
But I still called you *****
from time to time.
When you put your eyeliner
on, I thought of different dreary places
where darkness could reside
peacefully.
Dream catchers litter too many of the beds
we have occupied.
When I hear about your new best friend,
I want him to know that you
know how to pull teeth out with your tongue.
The creamy bowl of the clouds
laundered the sky, pulling pollution
against the washboard of our love;
and your legs were always open underneath the table,
waiting for my fingers
jaundiced by nicotine.
Sometimes u didn't know if
no
was the right word.
No
was the right word.
it would have retained
both of our
sanity's
even in vanity.
It seems that
no
is the better kind of stain
than
yes
and all of its incumbent pain.
No
would have been better
than twenty-five feet of intestines
being tugged constantly..
Better then
the peeping heart
and
broken warbles.
Better than matinees.
Better than
runways
and
leaving landing gear
on my heart.
Better than
love itself.
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 9:07 PM UTC
But these Eyes which fall on words inevitably unwritten,
Resonates absurdity's fingertips,
A delayed abomination,
Dancing with harlequins in their ring of retribution,
sing out with a poet’s mocking:
‘Fear your mistress/fear your maiden,
Decorated in her daisy chain of souls,
And silver to her bones from stone cold matinees’,
With Carnal thirst for the cruel phantoms
Who patrol like clockwork within a cell patterned cathedral,
Chanting monologues pairing their patience with promise,
In Shadows behind the collar they hide,
With convulsive voices knotting the synapses like shoelace,
This Fruitless curiosity meets with defeat,
The divine torture of invisibility argued with nihility,
Running blood of a guardian and a watcher's ghost,
With whom do they divulge their surrender to?
An anonymous force or a non-existent one?
Maybe they refute the toxic plains of prayer,
Maybe it is their duty to be timekeepers not lovers,
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
We were sat in the back row
she was watching the film show,
I was looking at her look at the screen,engrossed,
I had seen it before,
with Sharon next door,
who wasn't as pretty as this girl sitting near me.
I reached out my hand, she took hold of it,
and
my heart started racing,
seeking her cheek I kissed her,how sweet, and then she turned and kissed me,
fully on the lips.
I could feel it from my head to the tips of my toes
and now she knows how I feel
about her.
If she feels the same about me
this could be
the start of something new,
not just another picture show but someone I want to know and what I intend to go after.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
i have got a focus
one that causes these eyes to be elated
elevated, so to dilate all that is my being
yet I stutter in seeing
as you capture these snapshots
slowing my shutter speed
to lead these negativities
from undeveloped to developed
colored pictures
images that were once black and white
gradient mediums
of grayscale tones
followed by forgetting loans
that were reeled matinees
that i paid with patient
polaroid instances of being
too much of a gentlemen
counting 1-2-3
cheese - ready smile
but these cheeses
are too aged
long forgotten
It's been one of those long travels
where reaching point B
has no words but to allow
smiling instinctively now
even before you raise that camera
to eye, my eye level
focusing on taking this picture
there is a reason
a smile is worth a thousand words
that we share the moment
and share the life
because we take pictures
with people we want to remember
preserving past our memories
because in a flash
we loose sight for an instance
all those, worries, and concerns
reflecting happiness to ourselves
so when you open that envelope
of pictures for the first time
at the one hour photo place
or dust off that old album
remember time and again
you have brought out the best in me
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 1:57 AM UTC
Helen and Benny
walked over the bomb site
off of Meadow Row.
It was early
Saturday morning
and they were going
to the morning matinee
at the ABC cinema.
My doll Battered Betty's arm
has broken off,
she said.
How comes?
Benny said.
My brother swung it round
and it broke off,
she said.
Can't your dad mend it?
Benny said.
He said will look at it;
I hope he can;
Betty's my best doll ever
and I have had it since
I was little,
she said.
They came off
the bomb site
and stood on the kerb
watching traffic
going past.
Should have gone
to the crossing,
Helen said,
be quicker.
So they walked up
to the crossing,
and stood there,
and the traffic stopped
and they walked across
to the other side,
and walked past
the fish and chip shop.
I went there last night
with my old man,
Benny said,
after we'd been
to the cinema
to see a Western film.
You get out more
than I do,
Betty said,
I haven't been
to the cinema
except for matinees
for ages.
Maybe next time
I go with my old man
I can ask
if you can come,
Benny said.
O that would be good,
Benny,
if my parents
allow me to,
Helen said.
They got to the cinema
and there was a long queue
of kids,
so they joined it
and waited.
The traffic passed by,
and a dull greyness hung
in the morning sky.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 2:53 AM UTC
Life is but a cinemax,let's face the facts
we travel round and round the screen and though we'd like to be a scene within the picture that's being seen,we haven't got a hope in hell.
They sell these scenes to make our dreams and any scenes we may fall in are cut and put into the bin.
The real sin lies in the lies we're told,
as the green screen folds our lives in two
and the camera crew don't give a frig, to us, the not so big that we don't matter but we could shatter all their dreams by boycotting their clapped out screens and yet we still pretend that in the end,we'll get our break,take our fifteen minutes of fame,
well,thank you all the same I'd sooner not,I'd sooner scratch the spot that's sat upon my ***
and one day anyway the day will come when we all get our moment in the spotlight of the sun
so why worry?
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC