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Lise Nastja Mar 2022
The roaches come out
The roaches come out
every 5 am when everyone sleeps
But I see them
When I’m up at dawn
They crawl one by one
On the microwave
the bruised wooden table
Sometimes it creeps into me
In one ear, out the other
It echoes my father’s laughter
My mom’s denial of said laughter
I hear its critter noises
And I shout ****** ******
Yet they all still sleep
Soundly at the comfort
of politeness and tolerance

No one believes
The crazy daughter
When she screams help
#family #relationship #abuse #power #generational #trauma
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Keith W Fletcher Aug 2018
Calamities
...... my memories get fuzzy
As life pushes buttons easy as operating a microwave
In warming up
a midnight snack real blueberry pie
And there in the Stark lights
Of my Barren land my kitchen table
I am able
To be trans ported
To those vans
That early life awarded night skies
When youth afforded
And we reined Supreme
like wild horses
Free to roam - free to be before the calamities
Absorbed it all
Down... To the bones
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Laura Susan Smith Jan 2013
A happening by chance
Ceramic white, wood richly brown
Smooth liquid....touching buds of taste
Lips chasing chatter, slithering slogan sentences
Arm reaching, lift off, exposing the pit, selecting
Combination to the gestured shape, proposing
Enlivening, trickling conversation tripping
To my left.  A phone, pressing snugly, ear
Tuned up, alerted, filtering the microwave
Throng.  With welcome warmth, thaw began
Icy film packaging a heart temporarily beat
Free, playing, fraternising.....roulette with Russia
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Swanswart Aug 2016
The Dude Endears Himself To…
The bubbling bits, the melted crayons,
the wads of cellophane,
the loogie hocked up,
accidentally,
on the face of a loved one.  
the picture booth refrain.
The K mart moment, the screaming kid--
your kid (your screams) your blue light special in aisle
number nine, #9, no. IX.
The bar code ritual,
the magazines, the chamber, the Better Homes
and Gardens, the tomato worm majesty and sci-fi reality;
the 45 that skips, that skips,
that skips
the rubber cement execution.
The antiques, the answering machine genius,
the message,
the quit.
The key that would never fit
(even though it was really the right one after all.)
The said and done, the leftovers, the flat screen TV,
the belly in effigy, the remote,
the space in between
her ears and her heart.  
The cards, the paper cuts,
the canopy of foil on an ancient afternoon.
The bar room, the bare room, the broom swept
corner of the attic.  
The memories, the empty frame,
the carousel stare into the light.
the left behind,
the clouds in the sink,
the feeling you get
when you let
the microwave
be
a weapon.
#life #the #big #surreal #modern #disconnect #lebowski
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Sage May 2020
Intercepted cycles
Underneath the surface,
the earth is the microwave.
We are the engine, we are the heat wave.
The earth and it's rhythm is enough to move the world. We intercede in the natural process, so we corrupt the cycles.
#surface #earth #microwave #engine #nature #cycles
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jSweptson Feb 2011
3 in the morning
3 in the morning
its
3 in the morning
blue light
From the pod charger
Fills the room
Lately
Its become the norm
To lay awake
In these early
Morning hours
words
banging
round inside
my brain
as rocks
in a
can
of
tin
words
pop
pop
popping
like popcorn
in a
microwave
need to throw
back
nights covers
pull my
duff
outa bed
take out
pen and
paper
release
the words
from
inside
my
head
****
its 530
in the morning
jSweptson
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Max Petersen Sep 2013
HMM
Jailed in an incantation of growth
i change and my life stays the same
no longer satisfied by my home
the dogs howling in the distance
the microwave going in the neighbors
the screaming kids running like beasts down the streets
my madness
the asylum that im stuck inside
my mind pulsing with a thought of tragedy
this tragedy where love dies and the work goes on
i need to leave
escape this place and be the bird
my feathers mimic the colors i like
green, red, blue, and gold
bay head taking in the sea
empty glass ******* air
the resonance of the empty like a hum from the moon
the darkness like the breaking untouched night
things are falling apart
and im staying the same
my skin like the coat of the rich in the winter
i wear it with pride
i wont ***** myself with the repetition
i wont breed flowers here
taking a chance on the life of another
similar
wanting
a complement in time
you and i are the same
still recognizing the shame in routine
lets leave
and watch the birds drag themselves in the dirt
like the bees scraping fragrance of flowers
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Sansara Justinovich Jun 2011
The last day of Spring, 2011
America-- you’re about as inspiring as vanilla ice cream puddled in the summer sun
a damp dishrag, america, you can’t clean up the mess you are.
Your subjects, or should I say, Objects--
your agency bereft gdp drones--
they hanker, they brood
like a syst; they’re ****** vacuoles: private, malignant, caverns of capital
your pride? starving children, dying cities?
it’s a grand ole’ flag, you pathetic ****.
How about considering this:
The people, inside your prisons?
They’re free.
The people outside?
minions, hackneyed excuse for existence, and pestilence.
the ones who know oppression are free, and the ones oppressing do not know.
that’s why I love you, America.
You are what humanity needs; a slow, painful drain on our existence.
Consciousness slowly being ignited and swallowed, only to be ******* out and flushed away.
You, america, are a popcorn bag popping in the microwave, left on for too long.
You can’t expand any further, and you taste like cancer.
America, you are beautiful, and the death you bring tastes like lime flavored popsicles
that we lick to take away the taste of reality.
Your society is a cattle car, for the mind, and your messages burn the body
when it gets there.
MMXI
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Regina Golan Feb 2018
Crack the Gavel
If luck knocks on your louvered door you will have a chance to fight your enemy. You will stand up like a crackerjack prize and pay no mind to the man that broke your backbone.

Into the windowless courtroom you will trek. People lined up on hand carved benches, staring with unaroused expressions, waiting warily for their names to be called.

You feel your breath halfheartedly fill your emaciated lungs with foul and cumbersome air as you survey the miserable scene and avoid locking eyes with the man that was disguised as your one true love.

You wear a band of rubber which you snap on your wrist at the first sign of weakness so you stay focused on the gavel’s exclamation.

He tells your long-lost spouse from another life with another wife that this is not Watergate and “I don’t recall” will not suffice in his civil courtroom.

His honor dishonors his woven white robe when he yells in your direction with agape red mouth and judgmental judicial tone. When the courage strikes your hand-stitched smile will widen with words and you will command an audience of perjurers who will point forceful fingers at their prior partners that used to be ******* lovers and now sit dead pan wantonly waiting to bleat themselves dry.

Slam the gavel while the corn cracks in the microwave bag until all the edges have been popped out and fairness has been forced through the funnel like liquid butter with a diet coke to wash it down.

You walk away, down the dark labyrinth of hallowed halls snapping your gum and tip-tapping your heels as you flee from the referee who does not understand your half eaten heart with the wiggly worm within its wind-up walls. He will pronounce your fate with a backhanded expletive and a muffled “adjourned.”
#narcissistic #love #divorce #abused #wife #misnomer #desist
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J May 2016
Habits
The saying goes
"It takes 21 days to make or break a habit"
but it's been 71 and I've yet to even crack the surface on this one
I made a routine out of pretending to be stronger than what
I pretended you made me into, and that was weak.
I created a pattern in my head and brought it to life:
you were the reason I was this way and here is why:
what we had was a habit,
I'll spare the details because they're just as boring as the same series I've been watching on Netflix for a month without a purpose.
***, fight, make up, ignore problems, watch tv, sleep and eat ****** food, more ***.
You could smell the latex for two years before we stopped using a ****** and taking that risk became routine.
We knew all the answers to jeopardy but we kept watching and I think that's because we tried to pretend that we didn't know things that we already did
and look where it led.

It was a habit.
It was comfort after a week of routines we led separately but somehow over the course of three years never talked about deeply.
"How was school?"
Out of habit I say "okay"
How was work? "slow"
"I don't care what we order"
"Just pick something"
"Do you want to have ***?"
"Can you push over?"
"Who are you texting?"
"why do you always do this?"
"Are you finished being mad yet?"
"I need you in my life, please don't leave"

As humans we crave stability but do not know that what it brings instead is a suffocating cycle that should not feel so permanent at nineteen and twenty


So when we broke up I made a habit out of checking up on you
made a pattern out of blaming you for not wanting to leave my bed,

two whole months later.

What they don't tell you about habits is that 21 days is not enough to break down walls that held you in place for 956 days, even if you weren't very happy,
at least you were warm and at least you had something there to remind you that you always had something to fall back on,
even if it was weighing down your shoulders,
even if it would crack around you one day.

I made a habit out of projecting the blame onto others too,
like saying "would crack around you" one day.
Like I was warning others that love is not forever and to be cautious who you let inside your walls because I did not want to see you there inside when they fall,
when they really fell around me
and two months later,
it's a habit to still check in to make sure you're happy.
Scrolling your newsfeed though you have me blocked, I'm sure you know I do it anyway so you routinely make yourself look better than ever, satisfied in all that you have and I hope you are that way,  I really do
5 days a week in a factory coming home to microwave noodles and a small love seat is not ideal but it's comforting.
And so we accept these facts and allow ourselves to repeat
all we want sometimes is comfort, we don't even need to be happy if we have a place to sleep.

it is still a routine to forget about taking care of my self because that takes away time from caring for you and selfish is one word I never strive to be so I spend my days remembering all the things we repeated over and over.

I will always blame you because it is so hard not to.

I hope one day I don't.

Some days I try and make a habit out of pretending I'm angry with you when in all actuality I miss the stability of calling someone mine.
I don't know why I do this thing where I pretend like I didn't love you as much as I did,
as much as I do. Still.
I guess it's a habit because I have so much to live up to;
this "hard girl" image isn't easy, you know, but for 71 days it's what I've come to know is what I need to move on maybe half as fast as you did.
Maybe I wasn't a routine for you because I know you well enough to know you were stuck in your ways for longer than 21 days so many times and it was not easy to break through them.
Maybe I was different.
I think I loved you a lot more and that's why I have pages of words,
and bags of glass bottles,
I've made a routine out of this and you have done absolutely nothing.


21 days?
That's absurd.
I just let 21 days pass without trying to even move on

what happens if you don't want to break the habit?
I'm sorry, what happens if I don't want to break the habit?
What if I miss it?
What if I want it back although that habit is far gone and moved on?


What do I do now but blame that habit for my lack of motivation now as my fingers wear out the paint on the keyboard of this computer and I blame you for my weight gain and inability to stop drinking even though you told me never to start in the first place because you know I have an addictive personality and it's so hard for me to
break habits?

Once I get started on a new one I'm sure I will be fine.
they say it only takes 21 days, anyway.
#breakup #personal #habit #movingon #ugh #mine #progress #jmk
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Example Alone Feb 2016
Tonight we sleep
The off white walls as the paint is beginning to peal, the foundation has shifted, Washed faded teal tiles cold and sticky chipping away, The  microwave place on top of the 3 legged fridge slides every time it's ajar, old wooden dresser missing the bottom draw as the other two grow mold inside from the dampness of the floor, An old Orange curtain  hanging to the left of the window,  barely hanging on the broken rod, as the TV sits in the corner faces the wall, single sink with the medicine cabinet with the cloudy mirror, This is my room for the night, me and my "pup" will get to sleep tonight,  So sitting here with him, we listen to all the sounds and noises, smelling the stench of a burning cigarette, look out the window to only see trash over flowing, people talking in the room beside me,  I try to hold it inside me, but then I let it loose and tears start to fall, then I stop knowing I need to be strong, at least from my "pup",  I tried to show no weakness, these emotions of mine get the best out of us sometimes, dragging him along he always feels when I feel wrong, and when I'm down he's down, I always see it when were out as he walks along, side by side I look down and see my little shadow prancing along, Together we are a whole, hard falls and slippery roads. No matter what always there to pick each other up. I know I made it this far because my little shining star, I owe it to him for keeping me up this far.
#surviving #trying-to-stay-strong #room-to-sleep
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Tori Jan 2018
Temporal Focus Scale
Someone once explained to me
How time is a manmade thing;
That there are no real measures of its limits
That time: past, present, future,
Time never dies but it only keeps creating
And somewhere in that time
We are still alive, living in the moments
That our present self believes we’ve lost
And wishes we could get back to.
We are still alive in those moments
As if we are living them for the first time still
Something in that makes me feel better.
That there’s still a place that exists,
and is as real as you and me now
where we are still fully alive and still unbroken
A place in time that doesn’t know what it feels like, yet
To have to live and breathe in a world without her
And it’s not all dead and gone;
It’s happening right now for the first time still.
If love could have saved you,
You would have lived forever.
On most days this truth eases my heart
In another point in time, at this very moment-
You are smiling on my porch
You are knocking on my door
You are learning how to play guitar with me
We’re blowing up the microwave in your kitchen
Because we put a fork in the cup of noodle
And then you forgot to add water
We’re at another party your parents are throwing
Singing Britney Spears on karaoke
In another point in time, you are outside
Sitting on the tailgate
And I can hear your laugh
As if it’s for the very first time, and not the last
Suddenly twelve years doesn’t mean anything.

I remember you were always surrounded
By all the people that thought you were beautiful
But no matter how many times they could have told you
Still you would have never known
I remember you being so excited
For chicken and waffles on Valentine’s Day
Only to leave me the day before

Cause sometimes life is *******
And the memories aren’t so sweet
And they are not light, but heavy as ****
Sometimes I don’t ******* feel better
Sometimes instead, it’s hollowness and nightmares
It’s coming home from Denny’s
To flashing blue and red screaming sirens
And a lifetime left with unanswered questions.
I still remember the numbing, desperate pain
On the face of a father frozen in the middle of the street
As they took your door and called it evidence
Because his little baby girl tied a rope around the back of it
After she pretended all day that “everything’s okay”
The noose around your neck
Became the knots in my stomach that could never come untied
I remember the place, and I remember the time
I remember the tears on the couch
Streaming from everyone’s eyes
Your baby brother, repeatedly saying
She’s going to make it, she’s going to make it
Trying to keep you alive
As they revived you six times throughout the night
Only to say in the morning that you weren’t still there inside
Even after you squeezed with your hands
When the pastor asked if you could hear him
They let you go that morning and everyone lied
Was that you fighting to survive?
Or were we just fighting to keep you
As you were still fighting to die?
They let you go and everyone lied
For years, everyone lied to me
I never got to say goodbye

That night of February 12th turned into 12 years
12 years suddenly becomes an eternal hell of time
Time that’s just standing still
I remember two weeks as if it was yesterday
I remember the nothingness that was left
I quickly learned what the **** depression was
When it took my best friend
It’s the way that I couldn’t bring myself to go to your funeral
It’s all the whispers about you at school
And then the way everyone just forgot and started living again
While I spent years just completely standing still
It’s the times I couldn’t feel my own feet walking
It’s how I couldn’t cry
It’s the weeks after you died when I finally felt
Everything- all at once
And suddenly I can’t breathe or move my legs
Without them buckling beneath me
It’s the way they left your room exactly the same until they moved
Because they never could face it; we never could face it
It’s the way the only person that could hear me
Was a broken mother through the comments of your myspace
When years later, I still wanted to tell you about my day
As if you could have really heard me
It’s how I tried letting go
Just to always take it back
It’s how I tried to release it by drowing myself
In anger, in substance, or self-inflicted pain
It’s how I still can’t eat some days
Without feeling like I’m going to be sick
It’s how I sometimes can’t feel
You, myself, anyone, or anything
Or that I sometimes feel it all too much
All at once it Just. Wont. Stop.
It’s mornings over a decade later
When I still didn’t know how to talk about this
And I’m barely strong enough to write
When the first time words, and pen, and paper
Are not strong enough to ease the pain.
I’m not strong enough to get out of bed
To beg for somebody to please just ******* hold me
It’s knowing what it feels like to **** myself
While still staying alive
Yet sometimes wondering what it would really feel like
To be certain I won’t have to wake up
It’s the question that can never be answered
How did you feel the seconds before it stopped?
It’s that no matter how happy I am or how good life gets,
It might never be enough to ever rid this aching from my chest
Because I still can’t save you
And on some days I can’t even save myself
And that’s not enough
It’s not enough

In a better time, If love could have saved you,
You would have lived forever.
But my mind is in a place, reminding me that I can’t save everyone
I can’t handle the idea of not trying, or just thinking, and wondering
If maybe love is not enough to save someone
It makes me feel so entirely hopeless that it’s like losing you
Over and over again, every day that I feel this way

When you ended your aching, you started mine
When you killed yourself,
Xochitl, Did you know you were killing me too?
They say that time heals all wounds
But when I think about the time, it only gets worse
When they said that time heals all wounds
Did they even know what pain like this was like?
How have I spent a longer time aching without you
Than the 8 years I actually had you
I think about where you would have been today
That’s the **** that ***** my head up most
Did you know 16 was the oldest you would ever be?
Did you already know today, that this would be your last birthday?
I have searched for you in everything,
Everyone I have met, everywhere I have went
And I could never find you
Yet when I run from you, I see you everywhere

Someone please explain to me again,
How time is a manmade thing.
Remind me that there’s better days
This reality in time has turned into a prison, one I don’t want my mind to be in
But still don’t quite know how to escape from
Maybe this too shall pass
But maybe this too shall ******* last forever
Would someone just please ******* hold me?
Somebody please
Just something-


Someone once explained to me how time is a manmade thing
And suddenly 12 years doesn’t mean anything.
I will be present tomorrow, but today,
Today, I only want to be in the moments that you are alive
It’s okay to not be okay


Somehow, I still believe love could save anyone
That love will someday save everyone
I still believe that tomorrow is a better day
Although tonight, I am sinking
I still believe with hopes as high as dreamers
Although my heart has been shattered
Although it took four months for me to find the strength and hope to finish writing this
I still believe, somehow, someday
I will never again be a prisoner of my own mind
That though I might never know
The reasons or the answers
This pain, one day, will heal
I still believe.
Somewhere in time you are still here with me;
Somewhere in time I am whole again.
It’s okay to not be okay-
I still believe I will get there,
I still believe.
#suicide #best #friend #coping #hope #healing #depression
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Bo Tansky Dec 2018
Starbuck Soliloquy
It was the coldest day of the year.
We welcomed the return of cooler weather,
Fellow followers of the southern sun.
Winter had almost begun.
Delicious cool breezes uplifted our spirits.
Inspired these awesome(?) lyrics
There was a luminescence to the light.
It sparkled with the dearest delight.
The days were shorter.
The nights' longer.
The seasons were changing.
Change was in the air..
Change was everywhere.

Southern change is slow and steady.
Unlike the north where one must always be ready
The mass migration from the north was still underway.
Hordes and hordes of high blood pressure,
Scoliosis afflicted octogenarians invaded our state.
We who bore the brunt of the brutal summers,
Felt like we belonged to a sunny exclusive club.
Entitled to space, the roads, the sunshine.  
Now we must share with the worst drivers of vehicular crime
Accidents galore.
Everywhere you go.
Someone overran the barricade,
Cars totaled
Cars mangled
Twisted and tangled
Cars flipped & chipped  
A road detours
In the land of the aged & mature
Mature, I say, only in age
Otherwise, it would be an absolute outrage.
And it is.

People meeting people in the most unfortunate way.
I tell you it tests your mettle,
It tests your patience,
It tests your good nature,
Not to mention the nomenclature
of your exclusivity.  
Better rethink civility.
Better rethink senility.
Better rethink livability
In the south
In the wintertime
  
Missing you had become a pastime of mine...
Seeing you and Robert in the coffee shop that day-
Delighted me.  
So that I completely forgot to order tea.
I knew I would see you soon,
As fate would have it.
Not being in the habit
Of that particular time
That particular coffee shop
That day,
Anyway
Unplanned as this was.
That is to say
Not planned in the usual way.
Did the afternoon gods align?
Should I take it as a sign
Or is it pure coincidence
I know you agree with the ladder
It doesn’t much matter
Coincidence and me don’t agree
Nothing is accidental
No, I’m not mental
If you agree with me.
I admit it’s a hard nut to swallow,
Unless you’re in the habit of swallowing hard nuts,
Which most, I think, are not
Although I’ve never actually inquired
For the usual reasons
Excuse the nut reference
If you have a hard nut allergy
In which case you should stay away  
It’s not a bad thing,
More hard nuts for the rascal squirrels,
No hard nuts for the hard nut adverse.
How nutty is this verse?

I digress
As you can see
My thoughts always take me back to thee
Thought I’d get a little fancy.
Back to the Day in question
Referenced by me in this digression
If I thought something interesting was about to unfold
Oh no, oh no
It was the same old, same old
After the polite amount of time
You picked up your phone
It was a sign
Business as usual
Or is it you hiding behind
Some kind of some kind  
I don’t know what
I such a nut
Stale coffee sits in the microwave
It pings its readiness
Forget my forgetfulness
One more round
The coffee’s cold
Like you
Still
I take it out
Drink it anyway
While I wait
Still
The coffee’s cold
And so are you
That’s all I have to say
And that’s why
Without thinking
I grabbed the phone that day
While you were busy texting
Hey, I wasn’t getting in the boxing ring
You knew that

Robert was rather overreactive
It was only me being me
I’ll meet your cold
And up the ante
Are you all in
Do I win
I was only playing, all along
That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write me a love song
Two for her
One for me
I think you’ll agree
It’s quite unfair
And you want to be fair
Don’t you
This isn't optional
Even rational
Or actionable
*******
My phantom love
I get it.
Still
I’m missing you.
Do you miss me too?
Continue reading...
Anais Vionet Feb 2022
sleepy popcorn
I couldn’t sleep. I was lying in bed watching the patterns reflected moonlight made on my ceiling when I heard the faint beep of the kitchen microwave. I smelled popcorn.

I decided to fill up my water bottle and see who was up. I slipped on a thick, terrycloth robe I’d gotten from Lisa last Christmas. It must weigh 15 pounds and it’s so warm and heavy I seldom wear it.

I silently glided into the main room. Leong was standing at one of our two large picture windows staring out at the night. Her left arm cradling a bowl of ultimate-butter popcorn. Anna told me last night that Leong and her long-time boyfriend, who’s back in China, had broken up. They’d been together forever and had been expected to marry.

A bright half-moon was hanging high over campus, an electric ornament on a velvet background, its moonlight glint painted the world, like ice on mountaintops.

“I heard about your breakup,” I said, “what does it mean?” In Leong’s world, who you dated was of family interest. That person had to be approved, their bona fides proven - they had to fit into some long term plan.

“It means I can’t be tamed,” she said, with soft bravado. After a moment, she spoke again, more seriously. “It’s better this way - for now - someday..,” she trailed off.

I understood. All of our hopes are resting on someday, like so many wagers at a casino. I imagined some gambler, stepping up to a betting window, in an old black-and-white movie, saying, ”Gimmie 5 bucks on Someday to win.”

Something in her voice, a brittleness, precluded further questions. I looked at the clock, it read 3:47. I gave her a hug and yawning, filled up my water bottle from the refrigerator's filtered tap.

“See ya.” I whispered and headed off, back to bed. With any luck I could squeeze another hour's sleep out of the morning.
BLT word of the day challenge: bona fides: evidence of qualifications or achievements.
#morning #breakup #moonlight #popcorn #university #teen #humor
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Thia Jones Apr 2014
Terminal Indecision
I could step in front of a speeding train
adapt a microwave to fry my brain
leap from a cliff or a tower block
be sure to land on concrete or rock
slit my wrists, swallow some pills
maybe that would cure my ills
plug myself in and throw the switch
leave a note that says "life's a *****"
hang myself with a ligature
a tight plastic bag would make it all sure
but there again it might be fun
to shoot myself with a stolen gun
if I had a sword I could fall on it
or a can of petrol and a match that's lit
shed my clothes, walk into the sea
then drowning would make an end of me
it's just one life, but even so
there are just too many ways to go
it's a heavy choice, there's just one end
so I'll postpone the decision and think again

Cynthia Pauline Jones 21/9/2013
When I first published this, a reader made the comparison with Dorothy Parker's 'Resume', a poem that had until that point eluded me. It comes from a similar place I think.
#suicide
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Adam Pierce Critchley Nov 2010
Abdullah Atalar
I found a news article about the most boring day in history.
The 11th of April
1954
Literally the only thing that happened was the birth of a Turkish Academic
Abdullah Atalar
So I looked him up

“His research interests include micromachined sensors and actuators, atomic force microscopy, analog and digital integrated circuit design and linearization of RF power amplifiers. He teaches undergraduate and graduate courses on VLSI design, analog and microwave electronics.” - Wikipedia

He was boring too.
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Lexi Vinton Nov 2013
Eating mac n cheese with a broken fork
I hate poetry
about flowers
and springtime
or love
or the feeling of your darling's hand
or her ******* lips.

Poetry should make you really
burn
but some burn
more like sitting at a baseball game
in the sun
and you forgot to put on sunscreen
and you hate baseball.

I like poems
written late at night
with your brain blasted
on adderall
or coffee
or cheap *****.

Write
when your veins are filled with acid
when you're eating mac n cheese
made in the splattered microwave
with a broken plastic fork
and maybe even some broken dreams.

I like poems
when you're miserable
sitting in the sun
when all you want
is some ******* rain
to complement your melancholy mood
but the sun still ******* shines.

Untied shoelaces
and empty plastic water bottles
rolling down trash-filled streets
should take the pen out of your hand
and write some poetry for you.
Poetry about desperation
and drugs
and commonplace things
that drive you to the edge of a cliff.

I like poems
about that stupid pen
that won't work
so you scribble in the margin
but it still
won't
*******
work.

Maybe I don't like poems at all.
Maybe I just like
sounding pretentious
like some Bukowski wannabe
or maybe
I just like poems about
pretentious
Bukowski
wannabes.

Either way,
**** those *******
flowers.
Continue reading...
Sarah Kunz Nov 2016
Ode to the microwave
Our love is like a microwave
We nonchalantly recognize its presence   And we happily utilize it everyday
Yet we rarely sit and ogle upon the magic it contrives.
The beguiling beauty of the zappy microwave.
Whilst bumbling around the 12 hour work day an anchoring and ardent appreciation for the microwave sprouted. And thus some Sarah scrum doo dab drivel was born.
Continue reading...
Viseract Apr 2018
Fazing
I got another problem, another chance to solve em
But I'd rather lay under the sky and let my mind dissolve and
Sink into the ground, feel the breath leave my chest
In puffy dragon smoke that trails off into the sunset...

Yeah its a little cold, so what
I can run away into my mind and happily be lost
The spiralling air, that greys out with the frost
Can keep me fixated, dilated pupils gloss

With the wind in my hair as I lay without a care
See the clouds in the skies, only go where eagles dare
But I see myself riding one, a cotton ball so light
I'm feeling so relaxed that if I imagine it  just might

Happen and I'm feeling good, feeling pretty fly
I could drift across the air without even having to try
My clothes become the parachute to stop my every fall
Pick myself up, dust off, answer the call

Life picks me up like a wave deep into space
Drifting with the asteroids, spinning like a dinner plate
Caught inside, warm and cosy like a microwave
Open up the door, and I'm as baked as a cake

Grab a slice, I know I'm nice, don't bite me hard be gentle
Tasty just erase me sliding down, I'm feeling mental
Dancing to the sound, the humming through the ground
That makes me see my ears hum, drumming feeling loud

Yet quiet as a butterfly, a fragile autumn leaf
Falling on a windy May, from the branch its been set free
Peaceful like "what's evil", is it live re-arranged?
Watching every play from the back row, but standing centre stage

Every film and every cut where the recording isn't right,
But they keep on anyway to a deadline without a time
Set, and so upset and so depressed i see the fall
Before they get the chance to bow, it's become a curtain call

It's a shame to see such pain when the peace is but a leaf
Independence like the ones that fall, floating down a creek
In the eye of the beholder is the beauty first viewed
Tell me; for good or worse, that's all up to you

Everything that you pursue, do it for the better
And when you are successful be sure to capture every letter
And never let go, always hold the memory close
As though it is the cure to pain you could never do before
also on youtube, done over a song called The Journey. no I didn't steal it, credit was given
#vyscern #youtube #rap #fazing #relaxed #feeling #good #fly #chillstep
Continue reading...
Lawrence Hall Apr 2017
The Archaeology of the Weekly Trash Pickup
The Archaeology of the Weekly Trash Pickup

Q-tips that know too much about your ears
A banana peel that’s lost its appeal
A church bulletin out of date for years
The festive lid from a microwave meal

The vacuum cleaner’s latest bag of dust
A toilet paper roll facing its end
A razor blade that now must go to rust
A coffee can (that rare Colombian blend)

A family’s weekly story goes out with the trash
But I hear the truck – I had better dash!
(Just be sure you don't accidently toss out any useful iambs)
Continue reading...
Shaw Hovsk Dec 2016
Memories
Not a day in your life, war have your eyes witnessed
You lay safe, secure, in your ignorant pocket of peace
But their memories play before your eyes and their nightmare dance on your eyelids
The chop of the fan blades remind you of the planes, menacing overhead and dropping fire from the sky
The popping of kernels from the microwave wring forth panic-- Duck! They’re shooting! Duck for cover, you fool!
The book, it merely fell, but was it truly a book? Or was it the boom of an artillery cannon?
Screams of glee mingle into screams of pain. Your best friend, why don’t you reach out and save him? He’s only a few yards away. He’s in such pain, don’t let him die alone. Don’t let him die like this. Don’t let him die.
Stepping in the puddles makes your skin crawl. You remember their blackened skin, rotted flesh. You step out of the water quickly.
The open water is calm. Peaceful. Under the surface you can see them, the submarines. You move away from the shoreline.
Your friend, hugging you from behind-- it’s their hand, just their hand. There was never a knife. They are your friend. Or are they?
The memories. They’re not yours. Whose are they? Why do they tremble like tenor in your mind, ingrained in your DNA?
The blood on your hands is not there, open your eyes!
The jungle, the desert, the forest, the wasteland. You’re not there, you were never there.
The blood on your hands is not there, open your eyes!
Now the dark, it's suffocating. This is not your world of cracking rawhide and dirt. You were not there, this is not your reality. That white jacket should not make your breath hitch! That burning cross should not terrorize you so!
Now the dark, it's suffocating. This is not your world of fabric stars and canvas trucks. You were not there, this is not your reality. That red armband should not make your breath hitch! That fire should not terrorize you so!
Not a day in your life has this world brought its ugly head to look you dead in the eye and breath upon you, noxious breath liquefying your lungs and dissolving your eyes.
You are safe-- that blood on your hands is not real-- you are safe-- this is not your reality-- how it terrorizes you so!
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
They are theirs, their memories, and you see them every time you close your eyes.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
They are not yours and they never will be.
#war #life #pain #death #memories #paranoia
Continue reading...
Ameera Ahmad Mar 2014
The bar of chocolate
The bar of chocolate
Nothing on this earth,
Tempts me more than that bar of chocolate.
Its like a rope trying to pull me,
Trying to hypnotize me into its luscious mixture,
Just waiting to be finished.
Just waiting to drip from the tip of my finger.
Just waiting to be passed from the middle of my fingers.
To be gulped.
It is so good,
That you forget about the bad things that happened,
That nothing bad has happened.
As if all fades away.
This bar has my best memories,
Like how I once ate a piece of wrapper and I chocked.
How I ate burnt chocolate by putting it in the microwave!.
This chocolate contains all the happiness I need to start,
My  day.
This bar is my Lead to Succsess.
Continue reading...
paul smith Oct 2014
popiecorn
in the microwave the popcorn gos pop its jumps it lumps it don't wanna stop its life is full of high high jumps and excitement it fluffs up its main entertainment it gets a little brown and  keeps going up and down its really going to town the microwave gos off and starts to freak out and it starts screaming get it out get it out its finally done all fluffy and flaky the life of popcorn its really quite  tasty.
Continue reading...
John Patrick Robbins Aka Gonzo Nov 2010
Gonzo Or Bust!
The pub under the hands of some fellow madmen and
my divorce already in the works I set out cause why sit around a place and be misreble when ya can be heartbroken and drunk off your ***
somewhere else.

That and and my new wifes boyfriends were stealing all the dam covers
dam you Dallas Cowboys.

The trunk looked as if i had ran over a drug dealer and knocked over a liquor store ****** had i been sleep walking again?
There was uppers downers wild turkey and beers chips dips chains and whips oh my.

Yes this would be a journey that would test the limits and like a boozed up college girl.
On a ******* video would expose many
things for a T shirt  and a chance to make dad proud and kinda weirded out at the same time being he was trying to have some alone time to ummm   do some deep thinking  and touch apon  well yeah.
But enough with the foreplay children.

I was loose apon the highway bound for the place of true insanity
home to killer thieves perverts and the rest of my family.

Knotts Island N.C. is but a small island off the Virginia border
but remeber kids it's not the size of your island that counts.
or at least thats what your girlfriend tells ya cause secretley she's
******* half the state of texas  but hey who's bitter.    
  
Yes there was a smell of outdoor fires corn whiskey maybe
some organic  umm tabaco  that was green and Dr Jerry  had prescribed to me for my vision although i still couldnt see ****
but after awhile who gives a **** I never liked that guy anyways.

So after dumping the body in the marsh i had arrived.
Home where i could smell the microwave pizza burning cause mom
was to busy  helping 16 year old Brain  with his homework.
Yeah public schools ****** good thing Momma Gonzo loved to teach
and who better to teach *** ed than the town *****.

After there session had ended there we stood.
John how the **** are ya  you little *******?
Well it was a moment of only true gonzo  understanding and after are usal  conversation like hey did ya bring a bottle? And hey are we related?
And hey mom do ya think ya could  put on some clothes cause its kinda awkward im just saying.

We laughed we cried we turned on the tv and watched are family reunion on jerry springer ahh memories all alone in the moonlight.
Hey mom great left hook you really showed that ***** although
grandma did put up a hell of a fight.

We drank my mother knew her little Gonzo was hurting
and so we spoke over ten, tweenty cases of wild turkey.
Well son did ya pay her after ***?
She wasnt that kinda ***** mom.
What a stupid ***** hell she could at least made some money i mean really though look at you.

Thanks ya heartless *****.
Your welcome honey.
Going home it really reminds ya why ya left and went in the witness protection program to start with.

And looking at my okay kinda perverted lush of a mother I relized
****** no wonder im ****** up.

We drank talked I relived the old times as i held
her hair as she puked.
then she spoke to my heart once worried me that just maybe she had finally drank herself sane.

Ya know son sometimes people's are just a plain pain in the ***
but no matter what mom always loves you.
But ya gotta leave cause the Hells Angles are coming over
and you know your uncles Skull and Eightball still are a little sore
over the whole   you turning state witness thing.

Yes the thought of getting drug behind a mottorcycle for a few miles till your flesh was ripped from your bones really did sound like a downer.

So as I hugged my slighty weird kinda crazy okay perverted demmented  hell of a gal i called mom goodbye.
I realized the journey had just begun and Mexico was a calling i needed a save place to relax  and where better to than a semi insane drug cartel controlled  country  hey but other than that it was swell.

As I herd the chopper's apraoching
And had to ask for my wallet back now mom.
Really i havent fell for that since highschool  when we were on are double date at the prom.
i know what your thinking the Gonzo clan are nuts and momma Gonzo really shouldnt had me at such a young age but she was very mature at 13 and corn whiskey and football teams  happen.

Hey she said suprized looking at the pic thats Skeeter?
Umm  yes.
Hey can I have her number?
Ahh family moments.
And as I sped away like some
hyped up teenage girl  after there God Justin Beiber.

I thought well no matter where the road takes me  
as long as I have the blood of that  lush, perverted,kinda insane,southern bell in my veins it will always be second nature to forever stay crazy.
If ya cant be yourself amigos than who the hell are ya?
Love you all  like sisters well except jack cause he's my brother and
really would make a ugly chick  cause i have  much better legs.

Stay crazy kids
Forever Gonzo
Continue reading...
where the daisies grow Jul 2014
exit sign part II
out in the lobby, standing around, breathing in that familiar smell of cinema popcorn, different to the kind you put in the microwave for two minutes and watch spin around in the heat. we were watching people coming and going, the nighttime inhabitants streaming in for the late-movie - even later than ours - and me just wanting to turn around, disappear with you and go back into that dark and quiet space of cinema four where your hands couldn’t keep off my skin and nothing else existed. it seemed better, then, better than walking out from our date-that-wasn’t-really-a-date and facing the cold, facing our inevitable goodbye where i didn’t know if you were going to kiss me or even if i wanted you to kiss me, facing my friends with all their probing questions, facing my parents when i get home, and then, of course, the long and lonely wait until tomorrow when you’ll pick me up in your car in the morning and i’ll struggle, not knowing if it’s okay to call you my boyfriend and if i myself am now a girlfriend.
monday 21st july '14 ~ a follow-up of sorts to 'exit sign' ~ also a stand-alone ~ tired at 11pm and wanting to go to sleep but needing to write
Continue reading...
Yggy Aug 2016
Tidbits and other exponentials
(A collection, from across time;
for both the pearls and the swine)
-----------

(A letter)

To the walking scar of the eagle star,
You really haven't made it far.
You keep on finding ways to believe
There's reasons you should keep breathing.
From the trees you **** the air,
Stand on life without a care,
**** your waste into the water,
**** away your hopes and bothers.
Grime- and barb-encrusted bone
Without a hole, without a home,
Wandering post-happiness
Looking for a frog to kiss since
Fantasy is all that's left
In that body, soul-bereft.
You will die, alone, afraid
Time and again, day by day.
Ripped apart by your sentiments
Out-dated, almost archaic,
You fall from grace, all good outshone
By hate you let flourish and grow
Deep down, rising up to scratch
The surface, and just like a match
You are consumed by your own design,
Blotting out all the lines.

You are alone, and you are afraid.
You know, all of this, you made.
You see what your efforts wrought,
What your neglect brought, what your lies bought.
You will die, alone, knowing
The winds of change will keep on blowing,
Over you

And away

Dear star, don't be afraid.
The wings of strange creatures such as you are,
Mangled though they may be,
Will take you somewhere comforting

Eventually.

-------
Push away, on the boat
Lift it up, the sail
Cutting through the gray coat
On the river Fear

Looking for the islands I
Know must be there
Places that I love

Places that I care for, and
Reach above
The water I must be careful
to stay out of

-------
(That blues horse)

I've been shown to the water
The waters don't flow for me
I've been down to the water
Followed it to the sea
Knew I couldn't stay any longer
When the tides got mean
Maybe we should call a doctor
I'm drowning
I tell them not to bother
*** I know I must go sometime
and these
Waters

Do flow
-------

I tote a swag, but I don't slay - em.
I got the cards, but I don't play - em.
You'll never catch me out there ballin'
Never receivin any calls and
I buy them bags, n I don't weigh - em.
I get the bills, n I don't pay - em.
I am not on top of ****, but my
Mind my body soul n spliff are lit, I'm
Losing my mind, hear what I'm say-in?
Don't wanna die, but this ain't liv-in.

-------

Almost everybody seems afraid or angry
Raised not to do as done but what they say
Everything's backwards with eyes open, crazy
Violence and abuse, TV-MA

Stay faithful to the system, they'll change eventually
Tomorrow can wait then, it's just another day see?
It's all in the now, you are the center of the happening.
Turn around, smile with your missing teeth, be happy.

Nothing is perfect, so it all meshes perfectly.
Everything is magic, so nothing's magic technically.
The world branches out based on your understanding.
Love. No locks can withstand the key.



-------

Slop on those

little

nuggets of

silent gold.



Lay them out

so maybe

they'll give back

them shoes.


Then I could

run

so fast, you'd think

I took a bite of

young bent's

Mars bar

and didn't get away with it.


This is kind of

like Christmas for me,

When all the gifts

are socks and clothes.

But no shoes.


Or like

when the food you microwave

is burnt along the surface

and frigid in the center

so you get tired of waiting

and just mix it up

vigorously

only to find

that doesn't really work

too well., but,

you knew that.


You'll do it again.

-------
(arbor)

Burning diesel so sour,
Coughing up strawberries
For about an hour, now.
The train done wrecked
And the dream went blue,

Look at what these trees are doing to me

-------
(oml)

Old man Luck never had the roots.
He missed out on many a thing.
He was caught underwing in his first spring,
And so grew used to them walkin boots.

Old man Luck was weighed down
The day that he laid down his
Hopes, and his
Fears, and his
Needs.
Dragging around him
Those dreams that have bound him
To their cold
And lifeless
Remains.

-------
(Gtttttt)

I know you've been wondering
why I do... certain things.
You've only seen a little, and
that's apparently all you need.

Shallow being.

I won't let you make it
water under the bridge.
No, I won't let it be
what you try to make it.
Can't you see? You're fake,
and those aces up your sleeve
are showing. How ugly;
your tricks, foul comments.

Hold

You're blowing it.
Bad signs are homing in.
The seeds you've planted
are splitting with cannibals
that know how to flow with it.
Take control of it.
Take responsibility for your deeds,
see the patterns
and quit ******* ignoring it.

Hold

-------
()

Wake me up now, don't leave me hanging
I don't know how it is I'm found
I haven't seen a trace down here
That's why I'm off the ground

Fill my cup, my soul needs arranging
New Feng Shui, maybe silver-plated clouds
Left to climb. Now I'm left hanging
Maybe I should just jump down


-------


Vintage
maybe one day I'll be
Vintage
With the special plates

The catchy name
The allure
The grace

Vintage

It is a race
Against time

A pace
A sign:

"I will cheat death.
Life's just a ride."

Vintage

Never left behind

-------
(ye)

I'm losing it.
I'm about to give up.
No I won't.
I can't, anyway.

I'll keep on going,
Blood and guts and
Bones and all,
All over the floor.
I've littered the **** out of
**** near every situation
I've ever
found myself in;
Throwing up quietly
at the sight of all this
possibility.

Don't you see?
I'd love to be there.
But for all relative purposes,
I'm not breathing

-------

Body-broken, mind-choked, heart-less monotony

Soul-******, fresh-bled, flesh-less anomoly

Spoiled leftover. Improperly stored meat.
Wolf it down daily. Was it ever sweet?

Tainted courier of a love-less soul,
Bow to oblivion
~~~~~~~
Fgai


I'll keep looking but I won't see
Forget about it
I'll pretend I'm something I don't wanna be
Forget about it

I'm everyone in their cars, in their homes, on the streets
I'm everywhere you are, yea I'm everyone you meet

I'll keep listening but I won't hear a thing
Forget about it
To be continued
Continue reading...
tc Mar 2015
23:23: i sat on my porch waiting for you.
there’s a lullaby the wind chimes used to hum as i sat outside my house. i observed synodic epiphanies in the sky until all i could do was make a dot-to-dot of your face out of the stars that were almost as intangible as you are and as you always were.

i always found myself searching for traces of you everywhere. the sound of your voice as a symphonic ultrasound echoing from the wind chime to me, just for me. your effervescent hazel eyes (you always insisted they were brown but i’d studied them as a psychologist studies mental health) but you never came.

and trust me, i waited --
i waited for so much as a murmur or a rustled blade of grass when the world stood still and i waited in the morning, the afternoon and i waited all night.

i waited all **** night in nothing but a pair of leggings (you told me i looked “pretty sweet” in them once) and your jumper, the jumper you left at my house on may 16th. hummingbirds were the highlight of your morning and the highlight of my morning was always you.

you made scrambled eggs with milk and only a dash of pepper because too much gave you an itchy throat and then you took my hand and we slow danced along to the sound of the microwave; it was like a heavy duty drill begging to explode but we didn’t care.

i wore your jumper then the way i’m wearing it now, except i’ve tucked my hands into my sleeves because yours aren’t there to hold anymore.

i always found myself not only searching for traces of you everywhere but also searching for you in everybody i've ever met (and probably everybody i ever will meet). where’s that succulent sense of humour? where’s that desirable distaste for all humans besides me? you were intangible but somehow tangible to me and i mused over your ability to turn me from a servant into a queen but my gratitude overwhelmed me too much to question it, or you.

your name is euphonious;
i swirl it around my mouth like expensive champagne.
my stomach can tolerate neither.
#love #heartbreak #depression #life #passion #sadness #happiness #romance #breakup #heartache
Continue reading...
Christopher Mellon May 2012
Microwave safe
Frozen
instant
packaged
mass-produced,
my love life and meals
are embarrassingly similar.
Except, every once and awhile,
I dine out! In the spirit of the fifties!
when men were men, and cars were fast
before easy instructions, and lonely, lonely, beeps.
Continue reading...
Andie Aug 2022
How many more?
How many breakups does it take to ***** in a lightbulb?
You light me up like the humming glow of a microwave oven
How many makeups does it take to finally make up?
I've lost count but I love abundance
How many chances does it take for a man to act right?
I've lost count again but I've never been good at math
I've never been good at many things but I've always been good at love
Or so I think and hope and wish upon the stars above
I wanna be good to you
First we had to be bad
It's the kind of love that drives you mad
The kind of love that is awfully sad
Until you barely feel anything at all
Until you sleep and dream about that slow-motion fall
Until you feel everything at once
Until you realize you're both ******* s
How much more?
What's the cost?
I'm poor in judgement
But rich in emotion
Still searching for that treasure in the ocean
Is it hopeless? Is it worth it?
Will it make me sea sick?
I've always been a hopeless romantic
Will I get what I want like I always do?
No, no, never
Not when it comes to you
It's the endless chase that makes my heart race
And might put me into cardiac arrest
Up until now I've been quizzed
But you're the real test
July 31, 2022
Continue reading...
Charlene Tatenda Aug 2013
Home
This is my home.

You enter through the front door and
immediately take off your shoes,
although the carpet is permanently
stained from muddy sneakers
and Coke Zero spills,
and the one time she brought out
a knife screaming at him to get out
and all he left were three blood stains.

But welcome to my home.

Here you have the living room
with the sunken in couches
and the television that only plays
five good channels on a good day.

We go into the kitchen and find
every electronic cooking instrument
known to man.
Blender, microwave, coffee maker,
toaster, George Forman grill, waffle maker
and not to mention my Easy Bake Oven.

I lead you up fourteen stairs
to my sanctuary.
My childhood bedroom that I
used to share with my sister now
belongs to me and every wretched demon
my mind has created.

My bed is soft and warm,
and I invite you to lay down with me
to count how many glow in the dark
stars I pasted on my ceiling at age seven,
but you refuse.  

The last place I show you is the bathroom,
where I ripped the medicine cabinet off the wall
trying to find Wonderland but God knows I was
no Alice.
I collapse on the cool tiles like I have so many
times before, and you finally kneel down with me.

My home is two thousand-two hundred and fifty square feet,
and there’s still no room to breathe.
Continue reading...
Cecelia Francis Oct 2016
The microwave heats
The microwave heats
but leaves a cold seep in the
middle of the meat
#haiku
Continue reading...
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Poverty At Sixty
This was just published so it is copyright 2015 by Holy Cow Press ~ mce**

Poverty is the fence around your life. Poverty wakes you up at 4 AM only to whisper meaningless slogans in your ear. It is the school of Piranha nibbling at the back of your brain. It is two hours waiting in the anteroom of despair for $22 worth of food stamps and being glad to be there. It is changing your phone number frequently because bill collectors are such boring conversationalists. It is the empty space your heels used to fill. It is letting your hair grow long and scraggly and your grizzled beard sprout because you know that although you sleep in rented rooms tonight, the street is not far off, and you want to fit in when you arrive. Poverty scalds the lint from your pockets. It is your private Treblinka within which you rage but are crushed. It is desperate prayers against dental catastrophes, blown tires, surprises of any sort. Poverty is when everything you own is frayed including your nerves from sleepless moments spent trying to solve the equation that will make X number of dollars cover X + ? number of bills, knowing that such math would defeat Newton or Einstein. Poverty is eying the cat's kibble imagining that with a bit of sugar and a splash of milk it might be fine and then eyeballing the cat himself thinking of protein of last resort and trying not to measure him against the microwave door. You ration your cigarettes; whiskey is a fading memory. Passing a diner on the street, you catch a whiff  of burgers too expensive to consider and experience a Pavlovian  moment. Poverty is trying to keep your head up and then remembering you pawned your neck. Poverty is watching the needle eat your last few gallons of gas. Poverty is the archeology of despair. It portends the death of irony. There is nothing ironic about a car with 217,000 miles and no insurance on it. Facts are facts in the world of poverty. Poverty is the last quarter reclaimed from beneath the cushions. It is too much time and not enough quarters. It is the specious logic of the self-righteous proclaiming that you deserve to be poor because you are, which in Amerika passes for wisdom. Poverty makes each day like the next because nothing does not vary. It is who you are and where you are going, although you won't get far. It is the life you lead inside the fence. It is the sum of what you lack. It just is.
   - mce
My most recently published work, by the folks who pronounced me dead.
#poverty #aging
Continue reading...

— The End —