"moped" poems
Lights change from
RED BLUE YELLOW to WHITE.
Bass drums change the pace of our heart beats.
People are surrounding us like one whole mass, they are all the background, the way they dance sets the tone.
But through all this chaos I'm NOT alone.
I see a beautiful angel.
Her eyes like diamonds.
Her hair like roses.
Her smile like moonlight.
She calls my name through the crowd.
I only see her
& she only sees me.
I make way towards her, struggling through the dancing bodies.
When we meet, she takes hold of my hand.
Her skin is chilly.
Then our hands start melting like ice in someone's fist.
& suddenly were not at the Disco Party anymore.
Were indulged in light pink liquid which tastes so sweet.
Our feet are wrapped in white satin.
Our hands have become one.
& my heart is budding rapidly, it's a garden.
MY heart.
She is MY angel.
Finally I wake up to my alarm, time for work!
As I mop the bathroom floors & restock the toilet paper I think about the little angel who visited me in MY dreams & made life seem so wonderful.
We bonded for life in what felt like twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes of my like that changed how I felt about the world.
Ever since that day I moped with a smile & a twinkle in my eye.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
I met a gorilla
Gardener
In a jungle
Of native species
She kept her oxeye
Daisy on me the whole time
A cowslips past unnoticed
By the blush red columbine
Lily of the valley was
Sporting a fox’s glove
The cornflower and the cardinal
Seek guidance from above
A swamp of soured milk weeds
Seeps past your eyes
The firmly rooted ragged robin
Looks up awestruck at the skies
The bergamot was wild
Running circles round the yarrow
Black eyed Susan moped along
With her bluebell filled wheelbarrow
Good dogwood sets paw after paw
Creeping through the common nettle
As lance-leaved coreopsis
Charges in to test his mettle
I left a gorilla
Gardening
In a jungle
Of native species
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 4:19 PM UTC
"There's a target on your back,"
said the man in striped white socks and flip flops.
He swung his arms freely and slapped his face
accidentally or intentionally--his illness wasn't mine to name.
The trees wrapped their arms around one another in a huddle.
"Quick she's coming near. The target is close."
One. Two. Three. Birds flew by and splashed my forehead.
I looked back and felt one of the trees wink and point ahead.
A man on a moped waited until my back was turn and I bent down.
Whistle. Whistle. Head turn back ninety degrees.
You'll get in an accident, I thought; I secretly wanted,
his helmet-less head splat flat on the concrete, skin burning,
melting, bubbling, pooling in a puddle.
The red doors whined against my insistent grasp.
When I found my white door, I air twisted the **** that was
pushed back to show the open space inside the coolness.
I didn't live that cold. I didn't know how.
He did. And he reached into my freezer and removed his tongue.
I sank onto the floor and felt ice hit me my cheeks and my eyes and ears.
The blankets couldn't warm me. My tears couldn't melt what formed.
He tossed my key on the mat, kicked back dust into my face;
looked me square in the eyes frozen wide open, mouth gaping for air.
"I put a target on your back. See ya."
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
We were met on two shores
trying to get to the beach
we both knew the terminus
stood just out of reach
and we settled for us
with the thought in our heads
that if something improved
we’d move out of there.
Then the storm had subsided
and none of us cried it
was more than we’d hoped for
and mother just moped there for
days but we’ll raise her spirits
buy in more spirits and drink her a toast
while the waves belt the coast.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 8:10 AM UTC
I have a fear,
it's not that I'm afraid of the future,
I'm afraid of a realization,
one I had last week.
What if...
What if it's downhill from here?
My childhood was amazing,
my parents were excellent,
but the real issue was my friends.
The fun we had was real,
it's just not the same,
academic discussion,
scientific deduction,
dissection of stories and ideals,
what's it all mean?
My favorite memories are not of discussion,
but action,
actions I keep written on a piece of paper,
strapped tightly to my chest,
a eulogy of youth,
time spent as kids.
Through the haze of years I see,
low rate movies,
bonfires burning just a little too bright,
Wendy's runs in the dead of night,
skinny dipping out on the lake,
firecrackers bursting over head,
roman candles,
no small talk,
real talk,
girls,
near death experience,
you were there right?!
Mario Kart,
video games,
disgusting food combination,
skating behind the moped,
sledding behind the SUV,
basketball on black tar,
mustard spilled all over the car,
splints and broken wrists,
word games,
collective humor,
stupid and indecipherable,
socks with sandals,
up all night talking in the basement,
not a care in the world,
no ambition,
dumb little kids,
messing around doing dumb things,
throwing common convention in the fire-pit,
flickering flames,
nostalgia on release,
gone our separate ways.
I had realization last week,
those guys weren't my friends,
they were my brothers.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
Slam poetry makes me sick
Literature is the art of the unwashed masses for the simple fact that all you need to have to unlock the magic in a string of words was two eyes and the power to read
Then some selfish ******* decided that he needed more attention
So he created poetry that had to be listened to
And had to be spoken by the author to ensure all attention was pointed his way
Of course once the attention grabbing power of this cookie cutter poetry was revealed to every intellectually overcompensating , coffee drinking, moped riding, fashion statement making *******
Ever coffee shop, book store, street corner and city park was full of pointing fingers and raised voices and whispering
Stomping feet and any other gimmick to keep onlookers from noticing that everything they were hearing was recycled compost
Punctuation was flying everywhere
And the worst part is this brain killing monster ***** good free-thinking poets into its sinister grips
It is time for a revolution
A revolt
A Renaissance
Stop listening to slam poetry
Slap anyone who try's to make it
Tell strangers doing it to shut the **** up
Thank you
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
wind
wind in my hair
arms
arms wrapped around you
noise
noise in my ears
fast
the faster we go
country roads and
small town squares
you and I have seen it all
racing quickly around the curves
you and I have done it all
breath
breath in my ear
kiss
kiss on my neck
wind
wind in my hair
fast
the faster we go
.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
hatter hatter, old hatter mad,
did you know crazy is the fad,
for a man filled with the dope,
because he knows how not to cope.
Hatter hatter, old hatter mad,
crazy is his latest fad,
he, who is only a bloke
whose mind is so broke.
Hatter hatter, old hatter mad,
crazy will always be his fad,
he has always been so choked,
so all he can do is be moped.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC
I thought about you this morning &
wondered about so many things.
Did you sleep well or spin in between your sheets,
dream of anything special, mind draw a blank,
drink strong coffee, spiced-tea or have neither?
Perhaps you’re a juicer, do you fancy
carrots or strawberries or both?
Enjoy two Eggs Benedict or three scrambled,
have whole wheat toast or rye, some nutritious
granola crunch with a bit of soy milk?
Did you partake in a quick steamy-shower or
draw a soothing hot bath with lit candles & soft-jazz?
I’m wondering if you wore your hair
up in a bun or let it fall down,
all round your pretty angel face?
Did you apply make-up or
go Au Naturel, frown
putting on lipstick & smile
getting dialed in
for the start of a brand new day?
Did you dress to the nines or go business-like,
perhaps a trip to the gym for a spot of yoga?
Did you drive your earthy VW-bug or rev up the sporty Saab,
take the trolley, ride the moped, or hop on a bike?
Where you late to your work or
did you get there early enough
so you’d have plenty of time
to think about me?
I think about that too.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
Ur ******* crazy
Because your young and I can see the adventure in ur eyes
You don’t do nothin on weekends
Still most confident and withdrawing
Rather ride around on the beach by the water where you live
Than hang out with me, us
I guess I should’ve thought of that before I fell for you hard
Bout how you prefer your lonesome
Let me in
Before I found out how many miles an hour your moped can go
I should probably’ve done something
Need to stop idolizing you
Read me
Take my foot and drag it against your leg
Own me, why do I predict
I’ll be too needy
You’ll take distance and cancel
You’ll cancel and fall in passion with your own mind and soul
Look down at the ground
Bend your endless back
Show me those eyes with your amazingly hopeful smile
Bend up again and talk a bit slurry
Dark dark tones, tender
Let me combine your guitar strings with my aching desire
Aching aching
Desperate for adventure
And all the other ones sit quiet and awkward looking into complete and pure nite
Me and them have already shared our ideas
Empty empty and desperate for action
For love, wondering if this is all we’ll ever be
Put me on to your black motorcycle and never stop
Grab my thighs while I’m behind you to ’assure’,
I’m stuck to you and I won’t fall of
Only if a double decker bus crashes into us
I will fall off
With you
Whisper how you feel
Even if you’re only expressing hunger
I see visions in those dark brown eyes
Tip toe into the bathroom, look in the mirror
Yayo, yes you
I’m always buzzing just like neon
Imagine
Make our souls complete
Join the ones who just are there
Confess loneliness
Slow dance in the dark
Et prends ta guitar
Now there’s one last chance
Don’t reject again
Paris, way to set up but
With our school french group thirty people
Possible freedom with your friends and mine
But only if you touch me with your fingertips
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
You left a stain
A stain so dark
On my soul
It turned to a mark
And I thought I'd never get it out
I moped and I mourned
I really tried so hard
But I couldn't get you out.
I thought this was it
And I let it alone
Until I realized
I could come up with the perfect remedy.
I love the folks art and their mysteries
So I came up with the perfect solution
To remove you from me:
I'm brighter than before
Almost like we never warred
You no longer affect me.
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 4:26 PM UTC
I don't want to feel this anymore-
That emptiness I felt as I walked out your door.
You were so kind when telling me to go.
Trying to make it less of a blow.
I know you meant well, but I'm two steps ahead.
I knew this would happen the second I layed in your bed.
I'm empty-
I'm crying-
And I don't know why.
It's not like we even really said goodbye.
"I'll see you tomorrow!", you assured.
But my heart still sank; I felt insecure.
With shoulders slumped, I moped out the door.
I'm a fool for even thinking we'd be more-
Than something you needed-
Than something you tried-
For a second there, I made you feel alive.
Until you were bored and sent me away.
I get it, you still love me, but in a different kind of way.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
My hands have scars now
darkened splotches etched
in skin, flush against my eyes.
I got them but I don't know how,
because pain no longer sends
signals up my spinal chord.
My shoulder is tight from a
near death moped crash
not long past, but faded
like the lines on my thighs
or the blue of my eyes.
The only things left that are bright
and fresh are the
scars on my hands.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
My mother paints the Tokyo cherry trees.
She sketches the butterflies of Siam.
Some day, she'll bring my children
Their very own Indian elephants.
She wants to put an Asian painting
On every wall of her house,
But her African sculptures
Take up too much space.
I have never left my home, but she
Has been to the nooks and crannies
Of the pharoah's tombs in Giza,
And to the silver church of Kizhi island.
She brings them back to me
In pictures and words.
She holds Russia in her voice
When she tells me of a woman in a shawl
Who didn't smile for a picture,
Or a young couple on a moped
Who held a live chicken in their arms.
I shall never have to leave the safety
Of a warm sunday blanket,
When her arms are there to hold me
And sweep me to Arabia.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 3:22 PM UTC
I didn’t see it
but she saw it
it caused our end
it broke my heart
I couldn't see it coming
yet, she pointed it out
I refused to acknowledge it
she choose not to emphasize it
it was inevitable
it came
it happened
I can’t define what it was
it tore up my heart
and it did not do me well
I could not escape it
I cried about it
I moped about it
I dreamt about it
I talked about it
with her and without
even after it was all over
and with how much it
changed me, effected me
I still can’t define it
**** it.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Is there no more hope in self?
Surely things have been worse before,
yet you constantly play the role of victim.
A harsh reality we face daily
that consumes those who are weak.
I practice what I preach, though it's not enough.
It can't be- Afterall, you're just not the same.
How could someone like you step in my shoes?
How could you comprehend the struggle and pain?
Should I even bother wasting my time on this game?
Weeks will go by, and you'll ask, "Where is he?"
I won't even be there to answer you,
but if I were, I would say something like this,
"While you moped and sat in misery
I did what I said,
and now I'm making history."
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
You're right. You are always right and because of that I am kicking myself for even trying to fight it for 7 years. I just wanted to be right just once is all i asked and I can never seem to do that. I just seem to get hurt I fight everyday to prove you wrong, that I can find happiness somewhere that isn't you but tonight i can tell you are more right than ever. My thoughts are eating me alive the same way my stomach does when I refuse to eat. Tonight my thoughts go back to Friday night when you drove me home on your dumb moped and you told me to hold on to you and I refused and as you drove those few blocks I felt free as i stretched out my arms and let the night air consume me. I lacked a single care and i laid in bed just thinking if i had more time on the back of that moped with you how much i would have opened up to you but opening up scares me. I drown out the butterflies when you kiss me of thoughts unrelated and ignore the thoughts i have had about a future with you while i fight to prove you wrong. But I'm beginning to wonder when i will stop fighting and just be with you already. I just am scared of feelings and labeling us as an us again...
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
This morning we drove to work and argued. You were wearing your Starbucks shirt that you washed last night and I was in my oversized sunglasses and my green pants. The Prius go-karted through the trees and the mud puddles but you sat still and moped while I listened to my favorite music.
The mountains around us jammed out with me. They knew the words coming out of Stevie's mouth before I did, landslide was written about them.
I have decided that you have no desire to stand out or enjoy yourself. That you would rather go through life without ever being embarrassed, too afraid of rejection to put yourself out there, to roll the windows down and listen to your music as loud as you want. Someone might see you, maybe the mountains wouldn't approve?
well, WHO ******* CARES?
I think you think that the world would explode if you didn't go through your day exactly the same as you did yesterday. That if you didn't put lotion on in the morning your legs would spontaneously combust or maybe if you made toast in the toaster instead of on a pan the house would catch on fire.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
Chirruping birds lay in wait; as we passed, the flowers flushed,
Frivolously through the woods we ran- heads occasionally kissed by the dew,
In my petite hand, a rose red of hue, the fountains of love loudly gushed.
As Spring cast her spell, nothing would change, I knew.
The cruel scorching sun, the scathing hot winds a cruel blow delivered,
Gravely, she shook her head, reassuring words the Doctor sought.
A pearl of sweat adorned his brow- he feared.
As Summer dawned, nothing would change, I thought.
The bitterly cold flakes of snow, the surging sinister cold,
His beautiful eyes, shut, were shielded while I wept and moped.
The blink of an eye; the reassuring smile he attempted spoke of a heart of gold,
As Winter imposed, nothing would change I hoped.
The leaves tearfully from the naked trees parted,
A surrendering smile, my name on his lips grew,
The final breath, our bond severed- his bed away was carted.
As Fall struck, everything would change, I knew.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
the red pool of blood that i moped off the bathroom floor
the orange pill bottle i wish i had emptied some more
the yellow happy face i sent with the message i'm okay
the green hospital sheets i found myself in yesterday
the blue feeling i use to explain why i talk so silently
the favourite colour my dad forgets so very frequently
the purple dress i hope i'll wear as they lower me below
i truly am a depressed rainbow
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
I believe this is the first time I've fallen in love
The boy with the moped, truck, terrible rat tail
Sudden,
and quick
I fell and fell
For a while, he caught me time after time
But then one day,
he wasn't there
He was catching some other girl,
who never smiled
and would never quite realize what she had
This was the first time I shed tears
for a boy
the boy with the moped, truck, and ugly rat tail
A solid week had passed,
and every night my pillow was stained
with silent hurting streaks of passion
He was a flash of lightning across my dark sky
My rainy, lonely sky
And just like that, it was gone, in the blink of an eye
Burning and glowing
Gone.
That was the first time I had been completely heartbroken
Left in the dust
By the boy with the moped, truck, and hideous rat tail
I had given my whole heart
My life
My everything
To a boy who let me fall
The boy who let me cry myself to sleep time after time
The boy who had broken my heart
I continued to wonder why, again
And again
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
Can of dry leaves
On a deserted Plain
Sits easy and steady
While dust piles around you
All the same
Aghast were the ghosts
Who frollicked and moped
68 flame retardant neo-phytes
Left themselves busted
Not a nickel in sight
The road is empty
No law men around
Nothing but
The deafening shatter of sound
Plastic touches itself in front of millions
A synthesis of pure **** evil
A sliver of a far-off faint snivel
Rats red eyed and fat
Sincerely to thee
I've laid
Much better shats
May 25, 2011
May 25, 2011 at 9:15 PM UTC
i think he was a delivery guy
building four, number 2
across the walk
a moped with one of those
cage attachments
for carrying food
or packages
or whatever
one time i brought over a
loose hammer found near
his bike and caught a
glimpse through the door
gray couch,
folding chairs,
table full of wires
nothing out of the ordinary
same layout as ours
white Hats barreled in
before we could react
the dog was first
then my brother
then me
guess they had some bad intel
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 10:35 AM UTC
Jambo did turn towards the camp site rooms when
in the distance could be heard be music from
Halloween but its only july said he, then a mask
and blade he saw too late to run but said you can’t
**** me as a voice heard said I disagree as a knife
plunged through his chest and straight through
the tree, the killer smiled through the mask now
try to disagree…
Lolly looked around after her portion from Charlie
as he rode off, Lolly thought where have the rest
of the camp gone, have they have left me. As
she walked around horror music could be heard
and blood soaked areas all around lolly did
scream.
She ran to the lake it was blood red
with bits of people floating around she could see,
in the woods she found more murdered people
in parts people stuck to trees. Then as she turned
around, you look tasty I'll eat your liver with
some fava beans and a nice Chianti, as
she awoke screaming as he cut open her skull,
as she died he said mmm.. Jellied brains anyone...
At that moment driving his moped called Clarabelle,
a late arrival Marc was going 32 in the 30 what
the hell, breaking the law echoing through the
woods he did yell. Little did he know what was in
store, for he looked around and saw a face smiling
back at him?
He picked up the pace; little did he
know his life was to coming to an end, as a wire
took off his head clearly off. The wire snapped
as his head did roll, Charlie Hunnam drove past
and saw a headless rider drive past, he screamed
like a girl and felt a bump in the road. Little did he
know he had just ran over Marc’s decapitated
head. Poor Marc’s didn’t even get to the camp,
he became the legend of the headless rider that’s
know to haunts camp forwards woods on his moped
Clarabelle still looking for his head no less.
So the story does come to an end but the final
question remains what ever happened to Poetic T
was he the killer of all or could people write his end..
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC