"mixers" poems
There are bloggers and selfie-takers,
Know the difference.
There are noisemakers and peacemakers,
I can show you the evidence.
There are admirers and haters.
Be especially mindful.
There are well-wishers and supporters.
Be very careful
The are naysayers and yeasayers
Always be aware.
There are brothers and brother's keeper,
Always ready to take care.
There are destroyers and fixers,
Separate them.
There are mixers and blenders,
We need them.
There are writers and publishers,
They need each other.
There are readers and proofreader.
Both read for different reasons.
There are bystanders and onlookers.
Both will be watching.
There are movers and shakers,
One of them has the edge.
There are dreams snatches and vision busters,
Be on the lookout.
There are ghost whisperers and Ghostbusters,
Both have connection to a ghost.
There are buyers and sellers,
Each one benefits.
There are singers and there are dancers.
Everyone provides some entertainment.
©IvanBrooksPoetry
21/8/2018
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
in Scotland fair you must beware
the weathered moor at night
For it is said a thing of dread
hunts neath it's pale moon light
It's small and stout and loves to shout
and scare the tiny mice
It kicks the trees to wake the bees
because it is not nice
it runs amok through herd and flock
and makes the chickens fly
Then opens gates and shakes lose slates
and takes pigs from the sty
It up roots crops and spills the hops
and dances in the flour
Though rarely seen its really mean
and turns the fresh milk sour
It squashes flat each butter pat
and mixers wheat with grain
then ups and screams to spoil your dreams
and runs away again
The Haggis see is wild and free
and likes to cause such fun
Breaks traps and snares and frees the hares
and helps them to their run
The hunting hound that sniffs the ground
Will never find his scent
because he sweats sweet Vi-o-lets
to cover where he went
The Heathered moor and rains that pour
wash away his tracks
and he's not scared he is prepared
for haggis run in packs
With teeth and claws and snapping jaws
they are a sight to see
So think before you seek that moor
where they run wild and free
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
If god was a real person ,
I'd sue .
For floppy ***** ,
And gaping eye sockets .
Misplaced fat pockets
Stretch marks and paranoid doobs.
For photoshopped pictures
And singles mixers
And never being able to properly chew
My words Before I spit them out
For men that don't ask before they mount
And for all the doubt .
For protesters in front of abortion
Clinics and mimics .
And being more creative without your adoration .
For false salvation .
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
I am different
And have always been
Right from the age of four
Whether it be my fascination for trains
And cement mixers, for some reason
Or my peculiar fear of water
Or my obsession with the number of pages in a newspaper
And last but not the least
Playing cricket with myself
I am different
And have always been
I can't make small talk to save my life
Social cues are like Greek and Latin to me
I understand sarcasm
As much as Voldemort understands love
I keep fiddling with my things
Pens, papers, clothes, hair etc.
My room is as organised
As a typical bachelor's den is
And the list goes on and on
I am different
And have always been
Earlier, this always used to bother me
And make me feel inferior
Especially when people advised me
To improve my verbal communication skills
And body language
However, I have realised now
That they could not have been more wrong
Because I am autistic
And autism is not something that can be cured
Rather, it has to be managed
And thanks to therapy
I have been managing reasonably well
For the last five years or so
Let me repeat
I am different
And have always been
If you have a problem with that
You are welcome to leave
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 12:45 PM UTC
Palm trees sway in the breeze as waves crash on the beach. The sun sets low over the horizon as the boat gently rocks just off of the shore. Paradise to some an escape to others. Cabanas are decked with blinking lights as people dance to the sound of the steel drum and the Mandolin. Coconut drinks are mixed with local spirits to bring good cheer. Dark and White *** are the mixers of choice as fish bake on open coals and ***** boil in a *** Gifts are exchanged by the light of Tike torches and bon fires. The moon rises over the ocean and a starry sky is beset like jewels in the night. All is at peace with a tropical Christmas .
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
To be alone
Is to be complete
They say
No man is an island,
But isn't everyone?
We're all stranded on islands of self-interest
Connected to others
Through flimsy bridges of temporary alliances
Mutual interests and gain
The more connected we are
The more isolated we become
Pictures and blog posts
Nothing more than facades
Anomie is the word of the decade
The individualistic
The self-sufficient
Is reviled
For refusing to play the game
To participate
In the masquerade
To jump through the hoops
Of social niceties
Somehow
To sit and squirm
Through ******* contests and gossip
To flap and flutter
In the howling gales of hysteria and contrived laughter
Is preferred over
Sitting alone
Revelations and epiphanies
Splayed out before oneself
Playing solitaire with one's reflections
In peace
Baby showers and mixers
Celebrated
The impenetrable silence
Of one's hermitage
Eschewed
The people-pleaser
Preferred
Over the lone wolf
The team player
Over the independent agent
I suppose
In an age of open doors
A locked one
Raises a few eyebrows
They'd knock and rattle
Then bang and kick and shout
Before leaving in a huff
Authenticity is now the rarest commodity
Valued over saffron and platinum
So people settle instead
For knockoffs
Alcohol-plied sincerity is better than nothing
A China-made Rolex still looks better --
Flashier, if nothing else --
Than a Timex
No man is an island,
They say,
Smirking
Frowning
Clucking with disapproval
Peering behind perfectly schooled masks
Nary a hair out of place
Looking at me
In all my artless imperfection
Paper, pen, and cigarettes for company
Well
Which of us here
Is truly alone?
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
I've never read The Torah, but
I'm reasonably sure
it is a travel guide
for a desert getaway.
I've never dreamed of
red headed priestesses
who can move their hips
like cement mixers.
They probably have sharp teeth and
slender fingers.
I always thought that
the cosmos would bend down
to give me a dap.
It still may.
I'm full of dark and weird judgement.
All for you.
Sometimes the darkness wanes
while the weirdness lingers.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC
Never Have I Ever (Slam Poem)
5/27/2014
Having a best friend makes you think of weird things.
Stuff like:
Getting slapped in the face with a fish is more about smell than texture.
13 nights in a row drinking isn't so bad if you save cash not using mixers.
A stranger hitting on you is a storyline for tomorrow's lunch.
Redecorating my room is just for you, nobody else will see it.
You asked me to go shop with you, are you saying I need new clothes?
Crushing Ritalin in a bathroom, because we stayed up 'til 6am before work.
Pooping is like extra time in the day set aside to call you on the phone.
Why do we play Never Have I Ever when we already know the ever's?
People think we constantly say inside jokes, but we're just telepathic.
I get into shape before you visit town, because you're my best wingman.
If we ever stop being friends, I really hope you don't blackmail me.
Can I designate you to speak at my wedding, babyshower, and funeral?
... or is it too soon to do that?
Losing friends can make you think of weird things, I imagine.
Stuff like:
1. I should stop ordering carne asada fries - I can't finish a whole portion.
2. I keep my curtains closed - I know your car won't randomly be outside.
3. Having lunch alone ***** - I shared a crazy story with the cashier today.
4. I take my poops with the stereo on now - I never could go in silence.
5. My voicemail inbox is full - I can't delete any when your voice pops up.
6. Maybe I should call you.
7. I need to talk to you.
8. I wish I could call you.
9. If only you'd come visit town.
10. Maybe I should go visit the cemetery.
11. I have a new least favorite Never Have I Ever.
12. Never Have I Ever had a best friend die.
And I hope I never ever will put that finger down.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
liquid will swirl into the shape of it's cradle as hearts will mold to the minds of their successors. background checks?
tl;dr.
______________________________________________
brave girls have cranberry ***** running through their veins, isn't that right? drink up, buttercup.
what's it if you and i goes on a ride? i got a paintbrush, you've got what needs to be painted. i'll paint you so good you won't even recognize yourself.
-
portraiture is dead and landscape is only dying.
let me
-make you
-in two
-into
a landscape.
you're gonna be sittin' pretty for the rest of your life, 'cause i'm not giving you any other options. open up those ankles - we're out of paint.
-
this prototype calls for one cup of honeydew, one cup of darling- stop - .
if it's on the market, how illegal could it be?
throw 'er in the ***
the bottom drawer plays labyrinth to movers, shakers, mixers, fixers.
all those faces are too hard to tell apart, if you ask me. ten can-can dancers, please, and make it snappier than jaws on concrete!
no, not like that.
you're spending too much money on lipstick anyways. girls don't need makeup. girls will look pretty no matter what angle i've determined your elbows should be. your short-haired sister doesn't appear to be using this blood.
-
lay her on thick; and make sure you write those scars off as business expenses.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
I am so sick that I feel
I am so sick that I hear
I am so sick that I smell
Sick of the patented experience
I am so insane I can read books
I am so insane I can converse
I am so insane I can see
Insane because of pseudoscience
I am mentally ill because of what I hear
I am mentally ill because of what I write
I am mentally ill because of what I see
Mentally ill because of segregation & isolation
I am mad because of audio software
I am mad because of video software
I am mad because of editing software
Mad because of channels & mixers in a studio
We are sane because of witnesses
We are sane because of kindness
We are sane because of love
Sane because of strangers
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 6:58 PM UTC
Waiting for superman
She's got everything else
Wishes like a paper plane
Throw them like hands dealt
I got all this single frames
Captures more then hell
If penny's were made for wishes
Then dollars would never fail
How desperate are our needs
Pay it forward to tell the tale
Figure how trigger words
Speak bigger towards
Little kids or mini ******
Friends like me who want to be
What is more then what we see
glimer of a Gimp liquor, trying to sniff quicker
then Sneak mixers into the bar so they can
**** they still out there looking for fixers,
taking pills to get stiffers
Sure im the one whos sicker
is this your trick here?
Right hand full of dreams
Had a hand left with ******
sinner is in misery
***** you cant even play elixer
hold my hand why i choke slam all our plans of scam blasphemy is only for man
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
i don't know why,
in a litre, that's 250ml gone,
on the basis that, working from 40%,
i'm figuring, 40% - x = 37.5%,
add the half and then add the 2...
what do you get? 40%.
anyway...
these "hard" spirits
are perfect for mixers...
you get a perfect mix
of, say, *dark *** & pepsi,
to conjure up a sharpshooter known
as blackbeard; and that really is
a name for the most trivial cocktail.
and when i mean "hard", i do mean "hard".
ever drink habsburg absinthe?
that's nearing the 100% mark...
or what one might call:
the 10,000 indicator for: what wasn't
ran, but was drunk;
zeno's paradoxical centimetre or
inches or miles or kilometres come later,
or at least last...
but this is fascinating... % = double negation
given that kant said, 0 = negation...
it's like a denial divided by denial...
i know the symbol suggests more
omicron representation than a zee-ρ;
never mind... it's the perfect fraction...
like a golden ratio, % = the perfect fraction.
the thing is though...
i'm drinking this 37.5% dark ***
and thinking... if this **** was at 40%...
i'd be worrying about not mixing it
properly...
and this is a "hard" spirit after all...
it's not exactly habsburg absinthe,
or a plum extract that's know by the name
of śliwowica, common in the tatra mountains...
which, like habsburg absinthe, is
nearing the ten thousand mark;
but some strange reason 37.5% is the perfect
partner for a mixer... say... *** & pepsi...
whiskey & pepsi... ***** & pepsi...
at 40% you're thinking... posh whiskey,
drank lukewarm... like a brandy / cognac.
37.5% is a ******* mystery to me...
i actually can perfect the sharpshooter concept
with that balance... mingling 40% with a mixer
is... is... just ****** hard...
sharpshooter? excess of spirit and
a little bit of a mixer... a bit like... a shandy...
beer with a head of lemonade?
no? don't know it?
37.5%, and a litre of it?! and enough pepsi?
i call that a friday night... as a party soloist;
oh i did to the laundry wasted today,
almost anything done drunk is fun as ****
you get all autistic, making patterns out
of the clothes and where they should hang
on the washing-line...
red sock, blue sock... no... red sock red sock...
here! blue sock... tartan pattern blue sock...
no... ah! blue sock blue sock.... dangle here!
well... you know... people have their alternative hobbies.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 6:13 PM UTC
We need more Martians , they nattered at me all the time,
More monsters—people like to be scared,
As if those callow youngsters,
Growing up with two cars in the garage
And three sets at the country club,
Their fraternity mixers at Whittier or Occidental,
Knew the first **** thing about terror.
Still, they wanted me to grind out the harum-scarum hokum
They enjoyed watching two-reelers on Saturday afternoons
While men were doing hard work in Leyte and Manila,
As if the transitory fear of some ghoulish bogeyman
Would last through the thirty-second epics
Featuring some cartoon bear shilling for beer
Or bunnies extolling the virtues of toilet paper.
Let me tell you what fear is, I would say time and again,
*It’s a padlocked fence and a smokestack
Which isn’t churning out a **** thing.
It’s the jobs you can’t get because you said something
(And more likely, you didn’t) twenty years ago.
It’s one more envelope from the bank or the phone company
With bold red lettering on the front
That you don’t open because you know what it says
And how it doesn’t matter one bit,
Because you can’t do a ******* thing about it*,
And these promising young men would just look at me
Like I was some poorly made-up extraterrestrial
From one of their Buck ******* Rogers potboilers.
Several of my neighbors here were among the men,
Mostly boys in truth, who marched with the 126th New York,
Taking fire at Petersburg and The Wilderness,
At Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor.
We have spoken about the horrors of war,
The kaleidoscope of confusion and dread,
No direction leading to shelter, no road guiding the way to home.
They have said that, as frightening as the sound of the minie *****
Zipping overhead like malevolent flies,
And the cannon were, what they found truly awful
Was the manner in which those fields,
So like the ones where they had flushed out quail as children,
Became foreboding nightmare landscapes,
Containing a dark madness
That they never dreamed could have existed.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
Gaunlet
Flaws
Flow
Over
Arm
High
Above
Head
Reaching
For
Spirits
To
Ice
Shake
And mix
With a dash of
Fears, tears, laughter and unused years
Sip
Swallow
Gulp
Spit
Throw
Down
Your
Gauntlet
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC
“Certain breeds of chicken exhibit a behavior known as brooding.
When no Rooster is present they will diligently incubate eggs incapable of hatching,
forgoing food and water
despite the impossibility of newborn chicks.”
It seemed like you had been waiting for quite some time
like collapsed steam on cold coffee surface.
I watched you there
torn apart in the light
shadow fragments packing your edges
away like foreclosed tenants with an immaculately well maintained yard.
By turns violent and mundane,
open mouth smelling of monsoons
and hot morning skin. On the pillowcase
your fingertips bloomed like incandescent daffodils.
Nights posing as days stray forth
and return, with a casual politeness commonly reserved
for political debate spectatorship
and cocktail mixers.
Not quite grim.
Not fully present.
Standing alone in a gleaming room
begging for a sliver of crawling blackness
to tempt the curve of your hip back into my hand.
If there was time left,
I could have figured it out.
“I understand that you are sad and I am sorry.
I told you this would happen. I am
not having this conversation right now,
so I am sorry for that too.”
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 2:25 AM UTC
Somewhere
Just call me old-fashion because
That is who I am;
Bliss is the one to find me on my
Journey getting past you ,
Somewhere over your rainbows,
Lies still my beating heart,
Which you've thrown away ,
The mixers what is right and what is
Wrong with the love we had ;
What did I do to make you so bad ?
Somewhere under your shadows
You will see me crying over you,
My soul had engraved your name in my
Heart and it has not erased,
Somewhere in your mind,
you had a vision
Of me holding me,
loving me like we once
Did moments like this I do miss ,
Somewhere in this big old world you are
Wishing you never hurt me like you did !
When you see, another rainbow crossing your
Way after a rainy day,
Just know it means I got past you.
Poetic Judy Emery © 1990
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
I can hardly get my head straight, and between every single
Tone, I readjust the cases, straitening the lace
Binding up the loose ends, mending every one and
Creating strait spaces, borderline alone
Indulgence over emotion, I don't have my own
Add a fifth, and once again to make six
The circle begins closing in, closer and then too close
How many sides there are, to a pint of gin
Are there more mixers in a little bit of sin?
Its my disparity
Something I choose; suffering disuse
And a lack of caring
-------------------------------------------
I'm just a branch on another tree
Losing the last of my leaves
I feel the wind running through my hair
I swear, it's blowing just for me
--------------------------------------------
I've seen the face of god staring out the ******* monitor
I've seen the wrath of many more, more, **** it
I'm done
I still speak profanely but only on occasion
When I stop to rest, from the rest like I've been vacant
And the break is all I have, before I fade away in chambers
The scent of lavender light permeating my eyes
Draining through the veins and inflaming the day dream spattered
Doesn't matter
The days where hate is the mode of operation
Now, yes. Now, no
Blown out of proportion, maybe so, but I've been alive a while
And I'm still only a couple old
-------------------------------------------
I've been overlooking so many things
In single words, I frame identity
The wind is blowing through my bones
In simple thoughts, and tragedy
--------------------------------------------
And he told me, take a second for yourself now and then
Pen and paper permit magic beyond a mere existential crisis
Might be something to find amid strands of loose light
Find a new light, bright enough to conquer demons, but
Success is still your metric in the meantime
Fine, enough
But, I can fabricate well enough to get
Everything I need from something not enough
****
I even lose myself sometimes
But that's the point I guess
Another time gone by
another moment well defined
I use the same words, same works, same letters
I take the same lessons from the ones bound and fettered
To the cause, of making minds
Fun enough to pass the time
Long enough, oh god ****
Its almost...
-----------------------------------------------
If you follow my silver spool
I think I left too soon, if memory serves me
Too true for my own good
And the wind blows through my gilded skin
And I watch the moon rising
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
If all is ***** dory
with golden, two or three silvers
and all the pinks
Why are the Weavers worried
Is there not the finest gold thread
from Italy
Silver of Green and the East
Stunning pinks
like elegant flamingos
So why are Weavers panicking
desperate throes
frantic useless moves
flinging all and nothing
Is it that hardness like steel
or the moves of rhythm and timing
or the smooth mahogany sheen
or the stout enduring waves
or the amazing ride
So maybe Gold is not enough
Silver and pink not quite there
Numbers means nothing
just so and so
They all just do not compare
And Weavers are panicking
Weavers are panicking
panicking about what may surpass
Weavers are panicking,
They fear superior quality
If all is at it is
Pray tell us...WHY are weavers panicking!
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 3:56 PM UTC
I remember the crazy times
we'd travel down south
to the outlaw town of Ensenada.
We'd swing by Hussong's
for some golden elixir
& Mezcal mixers.
It was a fun wild-place,
where having your face
rest in your own *****
was allowed at your table.
I mean nobody gave a ****** about such things.
It was truly a place where anything went,
especially drunkenness.
The last time we visited,
some twenty years ago,
we lost two hitchhikers
we had picked up
in Malibu
on the PCH.
Now years later,
I wonder how,
or if
they ever made it back.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Different pictures
Painted now
Colours changing
Day by day
Gallery opening
Then closed shut
Why this paint brush
Why not that
Lines of nonsense
Lines of life
Lines of mind
Blocked in features
Shaded in green
Purple brainwaves
Sprouting out
Shooting at stars
Glistening bright
Sure as blackholes
Through the night
Mixed in mixers
Gaudy blue head
Curdled red spots
Why not you
Spray on graffiti
Lost on trains
Found by a policeman
Without dreams
Softly softly
Turn out the light
Dream a little
Wake up bright
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
The muggers,
The rapists,
The murderers,
The paedophiles,
The confidence tricksters -
Pray for them.
The weak,
The naïve,
The young,
The old,
The inadequate mixers -
Prey … for them.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 2:34 PM UTC
I have myself a interest in smooth edges, subtle features.
she wore a dress.
I lost my self in monday mixers and beautiful creatures.
I couldnt find my keys.
she loved my work, poets could make the best teachers.
we kissed outside of a bar beside a man much older.
his smoke in her face
beer makes the night warm and her body much colder.
share my desire to die slow.
I couldnt let go of my girlfriend but she still wanted space for me to holder.
my mistake,
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
Were science to again visit
The topic of race in humans
Like mice, like bugs, like snakes
Findings would first be specious
Then suspicious, then delicious
Finally mundane
Were race to ever visit
Science and its arched eyebrow,
Flasks would boil indignantly
Mixers would cloud the water
Paradigms would wriggle
Then die
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 1:14 PM UTC