"notecard" poems
Sunkissed and messy headed
Blessed be that fashion sense
Her tangled mane is a metaphor, a facet
To her mangled brain
Not in the cute black-and-white, scrawled notecard manner
A carved-out, paper cut of a sheet
Crammed in the bottom of her bottle brained backpack
Worse than the weekly
Chic self-harmed hipbones,
She sits and eats and watches the world from the real world clones
The blanket's just hot enough to cook her down
Reduced to the ruched Jovani gown
She's got lists of friends, you have to
Scroll down a page
It even has to load awhile
Then why's your radius clear of anyone?
Pixelated fixtures of her mind, too close to miss her
Too close to care
So close, all they are's aware
Minds drone, like bone picking
Knowing you're the stick in the mud
Warm blood behind a boil, just kicking for
Another tab to click in
She's been braless awhile now
Profiled with purchases levels lapping her current state
She pinches skin impatiently, chocolate scouring her teeth
It's the bitter taste of something so horribly surface
They erase away the beneath.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
I met a girl
A long time ago
Her name was Mary and she was quiet
One day she got a notecard
Inviting her to a party
Now this was the seventies so the note wasn't sketchy
And the boys who invited her were Itch and Poopsie
And no, those were not their real names,
They were nicknames so it wasn't sketchy
So she went to this party because she was the new girl
And that was a mistake
So she went to this party and made a lot of mistakes
So when Itch and Poopsie invited her back
She made the same mistakes
Over and over
Party after Party
Mistake after Mistake
Again and Again
And Mary, she was being crushed
With the beer bottles
And the invitations from Itch and Poopsie
They were taking her everywhere
All over the world
But she had trouble remembering the sights and the smells
And the only thing she could taste
Was it tears or the beer?
And then it stopped.
She woke up in a different state and a different city
And no one heard from her again
Itch and Poopsie went looking for her
But they couldn't even recognize her shadow
She hid for a very long time
She didn't go to parties
But she still made mistakes
Over and over
Man after man
Punch after punch
Bruise upon bruise
Until he broke her bones and broke her heart
And this time she made it stop.
She packed her bags for a different state and a different city
And no one heard from her again
He went looking for her in alleys and park benches
But he couldn't even recognize her shadow
She hid for a very long time
And she refused to make mistakes
It was over and over
Never again and again
I met a girl
A long time ago
Her name was Mary
And she was very, very
Quiet.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
There were sights seen
That never may have been
For the hours spent last night
Were throats held oh so tight
Lo' mystery if you fade
Leaving far away or into a pile of hay
The world where we eat, were we sleep, where we love
Will wheeze like a dying man's cough
Sure ain't worth a ********* living ****
When roller-coasters outside are still roasting
And everyone around you is still toasting
Left alone with a gun but not a rovin' sun
So sitting back with a belly fully of slack
And minutes seeming like hours while a lover looks sour
Remember or forget
That our time will soon be met
These good times on stagnant cable, TV, and feeling stable
May surely come spit in your eye
The green grass out your door will soon be looking brown'
And the forgetful neighbors you smiled upon
May soon be getting outta' town
And the lost that are thrown unto streets they never knew
Will soon be seeing the torrents of an unseen ocean's blue
Where gulls sneeze with majestic justice and royalty
A graveyard larger then the eye has ever seen
A tantric gaze magic in its own numbing tease
A breath that kept me away but still looking
Knowing that the chef inside is still cooking
Feeling that the lady in my bar tonight is dressed in grey
Uptight in my thoughts but loose in my foot
Let me linger towards you with eyes of curious goo
A flick of a finger led me to five bucks broker
I knew from her tough smile tonight I was the joker
The leaves that crinkled underneath our drunken feet
Took us to a narrow part of town somewhere around two
The moon above us shone bright and shone a light
That I never felt before and no longer made me feel sore
She peeked at my eye as I peaked at hers
Grinning shyly she said, "The name's Lily"
I laughed out loud quick, drowning in my own bewilderment
"That's my favorite flower!, in the Moonlight with a Lily!"
The night went on
Just like the song
And I lost her in the end
Cause of a notecard I never sent'
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 9:15 PM UTC
a notecard in a book,
bearing two words that bring to the fore
countless desires and longings,
secrets i tell no one,
not even in my prayers.
a simple phrase that reminds me
of a truth i learned long ago
and rarely allow myself to indulge -
i am allowed to dream.
possible wishes,
probable dreams,
attainable hopes,
life lived.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
Someone told me that inspiration comes in the form of an explosion
Another told me David came drifting through their ***** ceiling with a notecard in hand
Well I’m staring at my ceiling
In this library
And saying, the hell he does…
God doesn’t send me angels.
Inspiration is not hiding in a carbonated can that I just have to crack
Inspiration comes to me from a PlayDo machine
Something I grind and feed
Sometimes there’s something
Sometimes it’s all dried up
It comes in chunky nuggets, or smooth pasta
But it needs to be massaged
You need trained muscles, oiled gears
Writer’s block is negligence
Rusty cars never start
Wear Blue
Start Rituals
And write
Write
Write
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
when I was in the fifth grade
we were told to put our names on notecards
and to pass them around the class
so that each student could write
one nice word
about each of us in turn
and I had a crush on a boy
and I wrote "nice" on his notecard
and he wrote on my notecard
"mediocre"
and to this day my heart doesn't know
if it is more in awe that he knew such a word
or if it is offended and crushed
and five kinds of hurt
and boys are dumb anyway
and I constantly wonder
how mediocre I am
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 4:48 AM UTC
A smile can touch the spirit
In the loneliest of hearts
A simple notecard~ sent with love
Can build a bridge ~for those apart
A little thoughtful gesture
Can mean ~so very much
A forgiving heart
A comforting hug
The warmth of human touch
So little time
To share these things
As we live from day to day
These are life's simple treasures
We all possess
To give
Away..............
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
sitting on a decorative toilet in her child’s front yard, the mother scrubs her left wrist with a dry toothbrush. her right wrist squeals to be cut. there’s a wet spot on the grocery bag she wears on her head and the spot spreads. her flower print dress is optimistic. with a crow ever so lightly on his mind, my father writes the address of the electric company on a notecard and slips it into a pocket bible. he tells me to forget what I’ve seen and I wonder if I get to pick. my heart feels more like a broken light bulb the more I breathe and goes to my head the less. beneath the malformed crow my father culls, he gives me the *** talk. he includes that most crows are manna from hell or holes in the kingdom.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
So,
You want to know:
Why good things happen for those who don’t deserve,
And the worst **** happens
To the rest of us -
To the best of us on Earth?
It isn’t just
Some dualistic
View of how things work
It’s more that it’s
The heavy fist
Of a God all gone berserk.
While the Devil sits,
His voice a-twist
With laughter at the fall,
The bad get new beginnings.
The good?
Nothing at all.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 5:12 PM UTC
But where does the time go? Between 10:30pm and 3:30 am?
Spent in tears, in laughter, or in silence, all of them capable of being a twilight time zone without you realizing.
Staring at a notecard sized screen. Turning page after page in a book. Repeating to yourself for the seventh time, "just one more" even if you know you still don't mean it.
Those phone calls. The ones when it feels as if saying "goodnight" is like flying back from Neverland.
Laying still, or restless, gazing out in a dark room, up at a popcorn ceiling, each kernel a reminder of an embarrassing thing you said in 5th grade. We crawl into a blackhole of -wish to be forgotten but always remembered- mistakes.
Rehearsing your script for a significant part of your tomorrow. Imagining possible life memories in anticipation of an adventure that is waiting on you to begin it.
Solving solutions to problems that haven't occurred.
Searching for answers to the questions our universe has not yet answered.
What is the real order of life to our world?
What is truly beyond the city limits of our atmosphere?
Why do we really ask both a confidant and a total stranger "how are you"?
But more importantly,
why do we always accept "fine" as a desirable answer?
How can five hours feel like five minutes?
And, sometimes, something in our universe will ask us back,
"are you still there"?
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 12:39 AM UTC
my mind weaving baskets
and my arms weaving hugs from the backseat
so many thank-you-for-loving-me's
all i could do was laugh and love you
(thank god i didn't call you like i wanted to)
you told me you wanted my happiness
where it belonged
with the others like me in the kitchen
i told you that you were wrong
i'd never leave you so solitary
oh don't you forget what i said in my stupor
in my public display of desire for affection
(what would i have said?)
you've seen me at my worst now
and even then all i can say is how
much i adore you and miss you
it must be my most passionate truth
(too much)
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC