"mickey" poems
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -
11.1k
comfrock, you **********
get up off your crazy knees
and I'll belt you down
again --
what's that?
you say I eat stem pipes?
I'll **** you!
stop crying. god ****
all right, we dumped your car into the sea
and ***** your daughter
but we are only extending the possibilities of a working
realism, shut up!, I said
any man must be ready for anything and
if he isn't then he isn't a
man a goat a note or a plantleaf,
you shoulda known the entirety of the trap, *******
love means eventual pain
victory means eventual defeat
grace means eventual slovenliness,
there's no way
out . . . you see, you
understand?
hey, Mickey, hold his head up
want to break his nose with this pipe . . .
god **** I almost forgot the
nose!
death is every second, punk.
the calendar is death. the sheets are death. you put on your
stockings: death. buttons on your shirt are death.
lace sportshirts are death. don't you smell it? temperature is
death. little girls are death. free coupons are death. carrots are
death. didn't you
know?
o.k., Mack, we got the nose.
no, not the ***** too much bleeding.
what was he when? oh, yeah, he used to be a cabby
we snatched him from his cab
right off Madison, destroyed his home, his car, ***** his
12 year old daughter, it was beautiful, burned his wife with
gasoline.
look at his eyes
begging mercy . . .
9.8k
Pandas are *******
No doubt about it
All they ever do
Is sleep, eat and sit
It seems that the zoo
Is their native habitat
Sleep eat sit, sleep eat sit
Until they get fat
With their mickey mouse ears
And their love of mascara
Oh sure they make great toys
But so does a llama
You can't ride a Panda
You can't teach them to fetch
And where d'you buy bamboo
If you want one as a pet?
They're no good at mousing
They don't never forget
They don't even purr
They need help having ***
No, pandas are *******
There's no doubt in my mind
A less de-pandable pet
You're unlikely to find.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 2:23 PM UTC
Straight out of prison
Wondering what I've been missing
Right out of the gates I stuck out my thumb
A van load of hippies
All from Mississippi
Stoped and asked, hey dude...what's going on
I'm here for adventure
Well hop in then Mister
Adventure is what we're all about
Now where we're all going
There's no way of knowing
A van of hippies and parolee freshly let out
We ended up in Disney
Me and all of the hippies
Where we had caboodles of fun
We met Mickey and he saw it
When I lifted his wallet
Now we're in the Magic Kingdom all on the run
We split in different directions
To throw off detection
It's A Small World is where I made my mistake
With that song stuck in my head
It's a fate worse than death
Prison now sounds like a wonderful place
We rendezvoused in
The Pirate's Of The Caribbean
Where soon after, in came the law
We all jumped from our boats
Splashing around in the moat
And had ourselves a good old fashioned pirate brawl
We soon made our escape
Out of exit door 88
Finding ourselves in Frontier Land at night
Where in the middle of the street
Were Mickey, Donald, and Goofy
All with guns strapped to their sides
We ran into a shop
And bought guns on the spot
All with Mickey's money...he's a mouse of a man
Mickey squeeks we're going to ruff you up
As Goofy holds up the cuffs
And Donald says something we can't understand
We had a shoot out
With cap guns no doubt
After all Disney runs a safe place
Ran out of caps in our guns
Which stopped our lives on the run
The wrath of Mickey we all now would face
After justice's hammer
I'm now back in the slammer
This time I made my own prison bed
Now I cry every day
What more can I say
With It's A Small World still stuck in my head
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC
***Disneyland is the magic kingdom
through child like eyes, see Mickey Mouse wisdom***
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
The manufacturer must live in Disney land,
what a god can do with a twisted hand,
who makes mice and calls them a marching band?
yes
the manufacturer must live in Disney land.
The men with plastic heads live in some dolls beds and
the munchinkins, (no kin to the other 'kins), friends to
Dorothy, see it all.
In the Disney town when the sun goes down and
the night turns pink, you'd think the bars would crawl with cartoon
characters, but I've seen them all on a picture screen, they don't bother me,
watching ITV,
I feel like Dorothy, yellow brick and click, back to Disney quick.
If a god could only be like mickey mouse, eat green cheese in a popeyed house or the rainbow girl could curl me round her hand,
I'd like to live right here in this
Disney land.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 5:08 AM UTC
A woman with **** written on her navel
Smokes a cigar and raps on the rim of her helmet
With fat silver rings she wears on her fingers
She’s painted with red and black stripes
And is wearing a torn Mickey Mouse t-shirt
With a rifle strapped across her shoulders
She is a painting and she moves
When she was seven years old her father ***** her
She only sleeps with men bathed in whiskey
And coughs up ***** of cancer
Shaped like tiny
Ripe apples
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
Meditations and French Fries
I sit watching you nibble on some Mickey D's fries,
And taking sips of your milkshake,
Your two hands grasping the cup as if to make sure
Nobody could take it while kicking your feet,
That barely touch the floor, and humming.
This makes me love you more than I already do.
Your eyes move up and stare at me and I look at you,
Searchingly, but you cross them,
Making those crazy eyes that make me smile
And then you let your lips curl into a smile matching mine
And show the small fragments of your teeth and you are beautiful.
You are so content with sitting here, with oily salty potato slivers,
With impersonations of milkshakes, and more importantly with me.
I love you, and your tiny teeth, your short legs, your belly.
Everyone says you resemble me, all your ticks, your mood swings
Your ****** expressions, your desire to learn, your sweet tooth.
You are a copy of me, a miniature me, but you are not really me.
You are my brother, my blood but not my copy.
I see the differences between us, the different upbringing, you know what
A childhood means, you know fatherly love, and for this I am thankful,.
I wish you more than me, more knowledge, love, confidence than me.
I wish Mickey D's is better too, and that the economy doesn't go bust
And that you could afford some fries and a milkshake for less than 10 bucks.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
Mickey Mouse
When Mickey Mouse comes home hungover
He throws up ice cold Coca-Cola
He lives in a spherical house in the sky
Which he enters and exits with telescopic stilts
Which grow or shrink with every step
He is a good vertical neighbor
I live just to the right of him down below
He always stops to say hello
Or to make me laugh with a joke or pose
(One time he even stole my nose)
Sometimes I get so mad at Mickey
That I take it out on my kid
And then spent, I wonder what Mickey did?
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:31 AM UTC
When you go out and hear a person that say
" I Could Give A Rats ***
that's when you step up to them and say just two words to them: "MICKEY MOUSE"
When you see that Commercial with the Duck :
You gotta Repeat
"A FLACK"
When you see a Security Guard wearin Mickey Mouse ears,
What do you sing out when you need help?
" M.I.C.K.E.Y M.O.U.S.E
Mickey Mouse ohoo hoo,
Mickey Mouse:
**** Funky Security Guard.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 11:00 PM UTC
must love rainy days
adventure
pumpkin carving
and unexpected kisses
must be tolerant
of jimmy stewart
and bob dylan
the other men in my life
no height
weight
or hair color requirement
but big hearted weirdos
who smile for no reason
are always welcome
no
racist
sexist
homophobic persons
or those who say baby
as a term
of endearment
i like my coffee bitter
and my men sweet
never
the other way around
lopsided grins and kind eyes can get you everywhere
if similar in tempermant style or appearance to
the doctor
david bowie
mickey mouse
or jesus
please contact immediately
must be accepting of
raucous laughter
black and white films
cold feet
and occasional insomnia
i am always late
rarely refined
and have almost no perception
of the volume of my own voice
in junior high i asked a girl to stop picking on another child
she told me to go fly a kite
it was not until much later that i realized she was insulting me
not offering ideas
for an enjoyable way
to spend the afternoon
my hair is an untamable beast
but when fashioned properly
can be wrapped about my face
to create a rather fetching beard
i enjoy being scared
and am not easily so
unless you are a bug
i talk in my sleep
never know what day it is
and cry while reading good books
i just want
to hold your hand
in a crowded theatre
while we wait for the scene
at the end of the credits
and to be able to tell you
i love you
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
July 4, 2015
Grandson Tony and Grandpa went to Mickey D's for breakfast. Grandpa was ready to vacate the premises when Tony barred the door. "Just a little while longer Grandpa." So Grandpa sat back down.
Soon a cake and five of the Mickey D people appeared and sang happy birthday. Tony was apparently being a little secretive and alerted the establishment when we clocked in. Grandpa cut four pieces of cake. Two to take home for Lucy and Grandma. Two for Tony and Grandpa.
Tony then ask if he could give his piece of cake to someone. "Sure you can." grandpa replied. There were two tables with grandparent types and parents sitting 10 feet away. Tony picked up his piece a cake and a fork and squeezed in between the two tables and placed the cake in front of the young fella who eagerly began eating it. Grandpa then noted the boy had Downs Syndrome. The people at the table were pleasantly surprised at what had just happened. A grandmother came over where Grandpa was sitting and express that it was a very thoughtful thing Tony did. The whole thing rather blew Grandpa away. But that's the way Tony is. Full of surprises.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
Within these lonely walls of mine,
sometimes I wish that I could die;
I curl up in my Mickey Mouse sheets,
and quickly pretend, that I'm asleep.
~
Just like the nights I've faced before,
I hear them open up my door;
They quietly lay down in my bed,
and I truly wish that I were dead.
~
I push their hands down, everytime,
but to no avail, they begin to rise;
The shame and guilt seems all too real,
for that is almost all I feel.
~
They leave me torn,
they leave me shamed;
They leave me damaged,
yet it's me I blame.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 3:09 AM UTC
Mickey Mouse is so
Scary
So one-dimensional
So simple
So odd
That eerie grin
And his three fingered hands
Each with a clean, white glove
Slipped over them
Why gloves?
Why white gloves?
What about his fingers?
Why would a mouse need fingers?
And why does he only have three on each hand?
Is he some type of ungodly
Ghastly and disfigured
Form of a man?
Or did someone
Drop a rat's DNA in with
A man's in a test tube?
Nuclear radiation, maybe?
Other-worldly being?
Resident of a parallel universe?
Or we're mice and/or rats walking around
Smiling relentlessly, donning red trousers
White gloves, and cursed with two three-fingered hands
When the dinosaurs
Were eating each other?
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Disney
Like America
Looks awesome in the brochure
But feels faded and slightly forced
A bit of a letdown after the buildup
Still
Wild eyed zealots
Sacrifice their year’s savings at the altar of the mouse
A western Hajj eulogized by matching Toy Story t shirts
I really feel
I missed an important moment of cultural indoctrination
That left me insensitive
To the draw of this place.
A surprise comes though,
As instead of the expected moral superiority
I feel a sense
Of loneliness
And societal exclusion
As I watch
An old man with a silhouette of Mickey Mouse tattooed on his forearm
Happily
Buy a Bud Light for $5.95
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 8:06 PM UTC
You came into the bathroom
And took the blade from my hands
You left me in shock
And returned with the
Mickey Mouse band aids
And a box of tissues.
You turned on the faucet
And as the water turned red
You just stared at me
You bandaged me up
And you stared again
Until I started telling you
The whole story
And when I was done
You just stared
And then you did something extraordinary.
You started to cry.
-CsR
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
It is like some steampunk nightmare
Where working overtime is a racket
When what was time and a half pay
On the day I get my check, I make less;
Some kind of tax bracket scam thing
Where working extra hours put me
Into another category and increased
The tax they use to grease the wheels
Of a bloated government that hates me.
Maybe that dates me and it isn’t true;
That things have changed and it is
No longer arranged that way. And maybe
The way things became done was that
I got it all back as a refund. But isn’t that
Redundant, that I had to pay it to them
To use it like per diem for their games?
The shame is that I chafed and did nothing
Besides ******** and frothing at the mouth.
It’s not like I could go south to Ensenada,
Buy a piñata that looked like Mickey Mouse,
It was just that the house always wins.
But I have to pay for my tiny, mundane sins.
Why don’t they? Why does it go on and on
And then the money’s gone and I pay more
The next time some fat ***** of a politician
Begins a petition to increase their slice
And nicely reduce ours to a pittance
So low there is no admittance to a show
Or enough to replace a car that is a wreck?
The albatross around my neck gets larger
As it I move farther from the day it died
Even though I have tried standing up straighter.
It’s The Grand Guignol Theatre that life is
And the strife is to not let it get me down;
To be the happy clown and not the sad one
In a game that was begun to make me lose.
I am not confused. I see it, but it seems
Even in dreams I get no kind of relief
From a governmental thief with immunity;
The pillages with impunity and teases
That he does what he pleases. Neener, neener
What in hell could possibly be meaner?
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
holding on to each other like braids
tiring day for both you and I fades
my hair was a set of obstacle
but you oddly looked like a miracle
boy you're so special
let me be your favorite gal
like that old cute spouse
like Minnie to Mickey mouse
I'm pathetically in love with you
now tell me a lie that sounds so true
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
Scattered, splattered gold – like sunshine, once
It crashes into a dark place, a cave by the sea,
Where no one ever goes.
She can pick it up, let it slip and drip
Between her fingers, fingertips. But
She can’t put it back together again.
This girl, someone’s child, she dances
And reads books, and likes to ride her bike
To ride roller-coasters, to fall in love like
The famous people. Mickey Mouse.
She loves love.
Or she used to, she once did, not now.
When she was young, she would write poems
And she would know so, that they were poems.
But somewhere, the rhythm of her mind changed:
Syncopation, alliteration, became the sing-song
That helped her through the night.
*tonight
i don't belong here
my skin is not mine
hair like rope
up, i climb
to nowhere
tonight
pits where my eyes were
petals for lips
irises
we fall into blue
deep violet, violent blue
like oceanwater weight
i am, but not here
like kafka on the shore*
So now she stays, she lives in the dark place,
That same cave where the sea places
Her secrets, things that need to be saved.
And she’s wrist deep in what used to be
Something warm, and sweet, and really quiet –
Holding sundust, smeared
Willing it back into the sky.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
A is for anthill which I have in my drive
B is for buzzing from a hidden bee hive
C is for cockroach that run all round the house
D is for droppings, that have been left by a mouse
E is for egg sack that hangs in my trees
F is for flying which the bugs do with ease
G is is for gophers which inhabit my yard
H is for hillocks with which my yard is marred
I is for insects which are all I can see
J is for june bugs, they're as big as my knee
K is for killing which I try to do
L is for lugworms that are shaped like a *****
M is for Mickey and his mousey like friends
N is for never...this infestation won't end
O is for Oscar, my scared orange cat
P is for well...pee...and he's good at that
Q is for quinine which I leave out to treat
R is for rodents, which I want Oscar to eat
S is for slugs which are killing my grass
T is for totalled, just give me a match and some gas
U is for underwriter who has insured my place
V is for vermin, that now own all my space
W is for water with which I started a flood
X is for poison, which will thin out their blood
Y is for Yertle, a turtle by suess
Z is me sleeping...to bugs and vermin on the loose
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.
I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?
It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
I heard a squeaky noise
of fevered vigour.
opened to see a shocking
act of a well known figure.
For it was Mickey mouse!
******* a slice of Jarlsberg!
A dickey mouse pounding away.
The cheese isn't complaining.
So, I guess it's ok?
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC