"meredith" poems
this room looks familiar to my untrained eyes but it's just its facade. it's really just some random room that was specifically designed to torment me into insanity. guess what? it didn't work
as i watch the television i realize that i'm seeing us in the fictional characters of greys anatomy and i'm yelling ***** at mcdreamy while you go and spend the night with addison and alex realizes that his baby is a fictional person in the fictional world that is his own and i suppose i'm the meredith. isn't it twisted?
i wrote a monologue that held words of beauty (beauty) but burnt it and wrote a new one. beauty never really described you well. things like *** and alcohol and stale bread always come to mind when i think of you. (the only reason you're still alive in my head is because you won't let go)
it's not me anymore. it's paperclips and blue buttons and borrowed things that are never returned. it's a telephone that doesn't call out and it's lonely with someone else and it's you
do you get it now? no
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:07 AM UTC
For William and Meredith
For treatment of panic and anxiety disorders,
short-acting anxiolytics are generally recommended
to provide temporary bursts of clarity
but should be reassessed periodically for
usefulness and concerns regarding tolerance,
dependence,
and abuse.
Xanax releases dopamine into the brain
to function as a neurotransmitter to send signals
between nerve cells
including reward motivated behavior
and pathways known to reinforce addictive neuronal activity
Perhaps to build her,
you had to break yourself
amongst the glass of that summer day.
Leave her waiting for your hair to peek
around a weathered edge
toward a forgotten living room corner
You are still her Patron Saint.
A long shadow cast across a small ghost.
She still screams at the sky to stop raining
beats her fists down the path
to the house of death
unceasing, and changeless.
Prodding a dull,
familiar
wound.
One that leaves its mark,
with pain felt more
from memory
than from anything else.
Withdrawal and rebound symptoms commonly occur and
necessitate a gradual reduction
to minimize the effects of discontinuation.
Not all withdrawal effects are evidence
of true dependence or withdrawal.
Recurrence may suggest no more
than the drug having the expected effect
and that,
in the absence of the drug,
the symptom has returned to pretreatment levels.
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
Do you want to know the truth?
The truth that hurts?
The truth you don't want to hear?
Here it is!
I am not a Dallas Cowboys fan.
There, I said it.
If you want my opinion on the Dallas Cowboys,
I'll be more than happy to give it to you.
They will not win another Super Bowl,
at least they won't in my lifetime.
In my prediction, they won't win for a hundred years,
long after I am gone, and long after you will be gone.
The days of Aikman, Irvin, and Smith are as long gone
as Tom Landry, and the use of that stupid hat.
Yes, I do know the wild, wicked history of what people call "America's Team",
the very same way an Atheist with a degree in theology knows the Bible.
Ask me which player snorted ******* during the Super Bowl
under the watchful eyes of millions of television viewers,
and I'll tell you that same guy ended up winning the Texas Lottery.
Ask me the name of the kicker that fooled around with a little girl,
ask me what Michael Irvin was doing on his 30th birthday,
ask me this, ask me that, and I will tell you,
and you will know that I will never love the Dallas Cowboys.
No sir, not when they currently have a wide receiver
with a tendency to lay hands on his mother.
Yeah, I know. That was a year ago. But still, he hit on his mother,
and I will never wear that scumbag's jersey
or shake hands with him if I saw him in person.
You may think I have a problem, and yes I do have a problem.
It's the Dallas Cowboys that I have a problem with.
They should never be on a football field
and call themselves America's Team
when they don't even have the best quarterback in football.
That's right. Tony Romo is a no-good prima donna
who will never live up to people's expectations.
Hell, he ain't half as good as Don Meredith,
and did Don Meredith win a Super Bowl?
Did Danny White win a Super Bowl?
Neither will Tony Romo.
Like I said, the Cowboys will never win another Super Bowl.
That's the truth, and if you can't handle the truth, then that's too bad!
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
He still looks at me
Like I'm his Meredith. Make
of it what you want.
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 2:39 PM UTC
We met in kindergarten
Miss Wolfe’s class
Into an ear I whisper
A shy boy’s bargain
I knock on your door
Pray the dog
Doesn’t **** me
Seems like a metaphor
Laughter and chasing geese
Stealing glances
And prances in the woods
Sprained ankles in the creek
Your moon-drenched family room
And our primal need
Bodies glide
Into foreign feelings
I concede
We’re both shaving now
Not children
Yet not men
In between and fooling around
In my attic bedroom
Space Jam soundtrack
Hoping my mom doesn’t hear us
My hands on your back
Then moving down
Committing little sins
Shhhhhh
Don’t make a sound
Then the bed of my dad’s truck
Some hand stuff
Never a ****
Never enough
You get up and leave
I want you to stay
I play the radio
97 ZOK
Meredith Brooks
And I hate the world today
Because I’m a *****
But I like me this way
Fifteen and fevered
Down Mix Street
I rollerblade
Turn right on Worth
My love for you
Is such a sad parade
Remember when
We camped on the lawn
Quiet light and secrets
Then that wicked dawn
Dragging us back
Into a world
Where our desires
Don’t belong
We are strangers now
With a little bit of everything
All rolled into memory
Like a sacred vow
I’m your hell
I’m your dream
Do you remember anything?
I recall it all
Your tousled hair
And my forbidden grin
I think you live in Wisconsin
Sep 1, 2022
Sep 1, 2022 at 11:23 PM UTC
*Sonnet is love
sonnet is rhyme'
metaphorical pattern dove
so much sublime....
Popular with poets new
the Elizabethans too
their mistresses so few
used it to woo.....
John Donne, his life
catching the spirit of the Jacobean age
his need to express his love for his wife,
Anne, backstage......
Expression of religious passion
and simply reflections of death
The Victorians fashion
and so many more breath.....
Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
the Rossettis, so blue
and George Meredith were around
were so new.....
American poets noted
Longfellow, expounded
E. A. Robinson, devoted
Elinor Wylie, and Edna St. Vincent Millay, astounded....
Sonnets make us sing
makes us laugh
cry with saving grace brings
universal themes of love mon behalf.....
Keep writing those sonnets
all you wonderful and many more
poets, keep wearing your bonnets
that we all adore...*
Debbie
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
‘He who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered’
- George Meredith
In the solemn silence of the cathedral
Close to the 'sanctum sanctorum'
Away from the din of the world
I sat in prayer for hours
In deep adoration as I sat with eyes closed
Envisioning Him at the inmost shrine of my heart
I sensed His living touch all over my body
The one without form lifted me in His arms
Like a child clinging to a caring father
I opened my heart before Him
Placed my life’s burdens at His feet
Asked for gifts my frail hands could hold!
Coming out, relieved and enriched
At the gate I was greeted by a beggar
Dressed in rags, his hair lying wildly matted
With sores in his body, he looked a piteous sight
In his outstretched hands was a begging bowl
His lips were pleading in silence
From my bounty, I gave him something
And saw the glitter in his hazy eyes
Can I ever discriminate him
When we both do the same thing
While he begs before me outside the shrine
I beg before the Lord inside the shrine!
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 7:39 AM UTC
I used to pump iron
deep in the heart of Texas.
where Meredith shined
like Waco,
the twisted cowgirl
with red braids
& wore rattlesnake Justins.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
I wanna be bigger than the Hulk
Louder than Shatner yelling "Kaaaaahn!”
Gorshin cackling as the Riddler
With Meredith waddling behind
Faster than the Flash
Stronger than Superman
Richer than Bruce Wayne
More wonderful than lasso woman
I need an origin story
Radioactive tick bite
Radiodactive side kick
Radio waves from fingertips
I need drama that’s not mellow
***** show in a shitstorm
Facing the hounds of hell
In my Deus ex Machina
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
Sonnet is love
sonnet is rhyme'
metaphorical pattern
so much sublime
Popular with poets
the Elizabethans too
used it to woo
their mistresses so few
John Donne,
catching the spirit of the Jacobean age
his need to express his love for his wife,
Anne
Expression of religious passion
and simply reflections of death
The Victorians
and so many more
Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
the Rossettis,
and George Meredith
were so new
American poets noted
Longfellow,
E. A. Robinson,
Elinor Wylie, and Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Sonnets make us sing
makes us laugh
cry with saving grace
universal themes of love ....
Keep writing those sonnets
all you wonderful
poets
that we all adore...
As Rupal says,
Wordsworth too..
Debbie Brooks- 2014
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
Can you see it like I can,
a boasting child,
a boating child,
an accident
she drowned.
Down,
the bubbles escape,
race like red toy cars
as blood blossoms out ears,
and pressure builds,
and fingers reach upwards
pop
where small fingers are glassed with soapy water
and white and blue frosting.
scribbled over red lettering, "Happy Birthday Meredith."
And cards were presented with pasts and futures,
torn open like a shark attack
and ripping skin,
flapping back like dog ears, as he sticks his head out the window
and howls at the neighbors
for their loud music ways.
Silent crashing waves,
that boom death metal
and ride tidal curls
that bounce off her head.
As she writhes,
a red ribbon in her hair.
Hair of spun gold
like the sun
smothered by the moon.
Darkness eclipses.
And the last of the air is pushed
through her lungs
for light has drifted away,
torn like a suckling pig from its ****
and she is lost.
As her body floats away, pulled down.
Unclasped, she roams free.
groans, "Meeeee. Find mee...eeeee."
And eels slither from her jaw,
agape and brackish blue,
like pirate ship wine
sunken *** and treasure troves,
and streamline red.
Adding to a salty complexity
of tarnished speckled metal
like speckled eggs.
And brown eyes
bore out by hermit *****
that broke their shells after a gluttonous feast.
Unbuttoning her dress
a flower paisley sort of thing,
a useless scrap of sodden material,
for nothing matters,
as she thinks nothing can hold on to her
now and before.
She is aware,
but not really there, because you would miss her
like you did when she stood in the hall,
your eyes passed over,
and so stayed her silent screams.
So she left our world,
or rather hovered and watched
as much as she could without eyes.
She watched you,
and felt nothing over your cries
because she feels nothing
Now.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Forty years back, when much had place
That since has perished out of mind,
I heard that voice and saw that face.
He spoke as one afoot will wind
A morning horn ere men awake;
His note was trenchant, turning kind.
He was one of those whose wit can shake
And riddle to the very core
The counterfiets that Time will break…
Of late, when we two met once more,
The luminous countenance and rare
Shone just as forty years before.
So that, when now all tongues declare
His shape unseen by his green hill,
I scarce believe he sits not there.
No matter. Further and further still
Through the world’s vaprous vitiate air
His words wing on—as live words will.
1.3k
A trace of baked apples
and coastlines
Meredith’s most cherished possession
A bicycle
Purple and patterned
She grips high handlebars with high hopes
When the sun leaves a lasting impression
in the water
She pedals fast towards chimneys
flooding with smoke
Toward spongy grass and
midnight porch swings
Her only fear is drowning-
not in water
In innocence, in indifference
Dying without a purpose,
dying without a name
The palms whistle her name
as the sun sets and
the moon howls
She lets the shower soak her skin
Then sits at the corner of her bed
nocturnally
She dreams of waterfalls taller than God and
waves wider than wind
She sells italian ice
in a ball cap with
her toes curled in the sand
She’ll never leave
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
When I hear Meredith Godreau preach.
From my 4” speakers
I like to imagine she sings only for me.
Her words exist in emotions that I only dare dream of
As I scribble something insignificant
And know that she will never read a word I’ve written
but why should she?
it’s not about me
As I find myself in this position of unrequited melodic infatuation
I feel that Eurydice would have empathized
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
All within.
Shout your spells from the river: Spirit drawling; stand beside your sinner, or let him choke.
Let her first ask if her soul will wither.
It's okay if you hate me for this
Pull emeralds and ivory from my wrist
Now turn your cheek and make believe I don't exist.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
To the person
whose fierce loyalty
brings comfort.
Whose embracing hug
turns my hurricanes
into a whiff of wind.
The person who's my emotional crutch
on the struggling of days.
And the life vest
when I am drowning in pain.
To the person whose vibrant of all hues,
the bliss in my blues.
The shelter from torrential rain
And escape from my aching pain.
The listener
of my stirring experiences
and muddled-darkened thoughts.
The one
Who's ear is made of patient-empathetic cells
And words of underlying calmness
that seeps deep into the depth of my bones
and soothes my soul.
With you
Best moments are
Exponentially happier;
Much more vivid and illuminated
Worst times made bearable
And Infinitely less nerve-wracking.
You are my go-to
at any point of day.
The Christina to my Meredith
And the star of my Starbucks visits.
I am grateful to be
deeply embedded in your heart
as you are in mine.
To be your sanctuary
As I am yours.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 8:23 AM UTC
I think sometimes,
Too much sometimes,
That you will not love me
For being where I am.
And then I find,
too little sometimes,
That I am the one
who must love me now.
But she does this really well,
And that one already has the energy.
My comparison becomes your comparison,
In my mind.
Too often.
Where is this place,
Where I cannot see my own beauty?
My own gifts?
I question what I offer,
And then wonder.
He probably thinks I don't offer anything.
I need words, reassurance, validation.
Where is this place? When was this born?
Spirit, see me and hear me.
Meredith, see you and hear you.
Be Peace. Be Love. Be beauty.
Accept where you are,
And no one can compare you.
This representation is one with all,
Yet unique. Be your gifts and your heart.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
Years ago before one of my friends was married or had children we hung out a lot and were best friends. I visited her at her apartment one evening to socialize. She had her other best friend there too and the three of us ordered a pizza.
When they delivered the pizza they brought the wrong kind of pizza so we ended up getting an additional free pizza because they delivered another pizza free of charge. Now that is a good pizza place.
After eating lots of pizza we had some drinks and our conversation at one point shifted to the subject of Batman. Someone asked, "What is the name of the actor that played the Penguin in the original version of Batman?"
For some reason no one could remember the name. All three of us took turns trying to remember the actor's name but no one could remember the name . Several different names were suggested but none of the names were correct.
All three of us were laughing our butts off because we were blurting out all tbese different names of actors but none of them were the correct name. The name escaped all three of us and it seemed to be on the tip of my tongue but I couldn't get to it.
I remember at one point in desperation to spit it out and come to a conclusion I blurted out, "Cloris Leachman!?" which is actually a female actress.
We had fun that night and our conversation was on many different topics but several times during the evening it shifted back to the guessing of the actor's name that played the penguin in the original Batman. The night ended without anyone figuring out or remembering the actor's name.
I went home that night and went to bed. I woke up at 3 a.m. in the morning and sat up in bed for a moment and whispered "Burgess Meredith." Then I promptly went back to sleep.
It seems that even while sleeping , in the back of my mind I was working on the missing information that was causing such a dilemma.
Over the years I have done this type of thing again and again quietly to myself when trying to find an answer or solution to a problem often much weightier and more significant than the remembering of an actor's name.
Pizza Night
By Lynn Guevrekian
Jan 23, 2024
Jan 23, 2024 at 1:52 PM UTC
i cannot believe you’re this fickle and pissy to me after everything. who was the only one there for you after madison decided you weren’t worth her time? who made sure you ate when you wouldn’t even come to school? who watched out for you and answered for you when people asked you what’s wrong, why you were carrying that book around everywhere? who listened to you rant about how eero doesn’t understand loyalty and doesn’t get you at all when he spoke to madison one day in latin? who got you off and bore the brunt of your disgust at yourself because you’d cheated on emily? christ, oh emily, oh perfect, flawless, god-like emily. emily who partied and lost control and got drunk nearly every weekend and yet you still loved her. who could talk to and be with and **** with anyone she wanted and you still loved her. what that would have been like. but if i speak out about how i should have freedom? about how who i choose to be with should have no effect on you? about how i ******* want to still be friends with meredith who was ***** and who had marks all over her body and who couldn’t feel her ******* ****** when she woke up?
don’t ******* talk to me about loyalty, stuart. you’ve been my best friend and i love you and i want the best for you always and i don’t expect anything from you, i never have, but this shows that we are just fundamentally different. i’m not able to understand why i never deserved your respect and why nothing i could do would ever change the fact that i’m expendable to you. but i’m not sorry that i’m done with it.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
my skin has always been mine to break. it is a crime scene i can never flee, and i have to live with the fact of being both the perpetrator and the victim. i am an inconspicuous shadow melting in a rustic kitchen, waiting to escape — waiting to be found, and this anguished aching has begun to chew on my fingertips, like a bleaching agent yet, some things always leave a trace. some things always leave a trace. some things always leave a trace. my hidden scars, my manic letters, striking in their blood-red words, my hair all chopped off like diseased dahlia stems. my fingerprints, like the sins of a roman governor washed in vain. my loudest angers. my quiet hurting.
some things always leave a trace. i wish i can dissassemble my body and carefully lay myself — all detached pieces, on a dinner table, and wipe myself with a washcloth. i wish i can wipe myself and lo, i am good as new. i wish i can wipe myself spotless. i wish i can wipe myself clean.
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 9:00 AM UTC
I think that I am needy
There I said it
I don't have what everyone else has
a boy that loves them and wants them
and I think I'm needy
because I want that
I want the Pam and Jim love story
the Me before You story
the Meredith and Derek story
Is that so much to ask for?
It must be.
I say that there is someone for everyone
but when am I going to start believing it?
It seems so easy for everyone else,
to love and be loved, so quickly finding someone
but here I am chasing a boy who may not want me
and I convince myself he does
What if he doesn't?
Have I wasted my time?
When did I start measuring my worth
upon how far I have gone with a man?
And when someone else
who is much ____(er) than me
gets with a guy,
I feel like there must be something really wrong with me.
When did women become each other's competition?
When did I start being so harsh to myself?
I know what I want, truly, from a man
and I think I'm needy because I have standards and expectations
I want to be desired and loved and wanted
I needy for it and I hate myself for it
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 1:02 AM UTC