"olympics" poems
3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin)
Something's wrong... you don't belong here.
I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza.
I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni.
I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf.
He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public.
Like I'm a creep. I'm a ******
What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.
You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table.
When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates.
Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion.
After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu.
So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.
Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.
They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.
They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.
They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.
They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.
They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies, if you know what I mean.
In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.
They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes!
I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.
And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.
I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!
I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay.
... except for anchovies, of course.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
Its all just words
No faces
No looks, no clothes, no smell
A simple connection
It could have been anybody
But it wasn’t
It started off as a hobby
Something to keep boredom at bay
By now you’re junior olympics... At least
It can be as flawless as beach glass
Or jagged
and farspread like the trees still dieing
I never know what to expect
Excitement
Misunderstanding
Seriousness
Interest
Laughter
Understanding
Awkwardness
Distracted
An idea
... Clearly I could continue
It’s like my little escape hole
A therapist that Actually understands and wants to
We just click
Alined by the sun
Some would say
But I dunno if that’s true
All I know is what I feel
Should I not feel what I feel?
Do I feel what I feel?
Is what I feel real?
Or is it fake
Is it a lie?
Or should I make it one
I don’t know what’s best
How can I
I’m new at this remember
All I know are the words of the known
Who are unknown to me in one world
And an empty chair in the next
I sit down and wait patiently
Until it’s finally my turn, here is where I’ll sit
There is no shame finding comfort in the little things the chair offers
Its smooth silky surface
The wine stain down the middle
the dots that resemble a smile in the corner
You don’t forget what you know so well
You open up your palm
A baby snake inside
He doesn't take it
He doesn't **** it on the spot
He doesn't grimace with disgust
He doesn't burst out in laughter
He picks it up
and cradles it in his hands
And sets it free
Back into the world where it belongs
And then he gives you a dalia
You take it and tuck it behind his ear as something to be admired
He blushes
He needs you too
Maybe
But its real
Almost too real
So you push it away
It’s impossible
It might not even be close to what you think it might be
Forget
And stay silent
Hey
We start again
A haha here
A smiley face too
Climbing up the uncertain mountain that has never been climbed before
The chance of falling high
But you like the chase
And for now
It’s enough
You don’t really care if you summit anyway
A possible “when”
always dangling
Inside the clouds
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 3:15 AM UTC
there was a little cheetah he had a dream one day
to run in the olympics in a land so far away
he boarded on a plane and flew across the sea
to a place in russia where the games would be
he went to the track a runner he would be
running in a marathon a sporty cat was he
then the time had come for the cheetahs race
he stood in a line and cheetah took his place
now the race was on cheetah took it slow
took it nice and easy with a steady flow
they ran for quite a while the race was very long
cheetah had a finish that was so very strong
as the finish neared he come to the front
then stepped us his speed like being on a hunt
he went like a train like the speed of light
and flew across the finish line with no one else in sight
his mission it was over and his race one won
he enjoyed his holiday that gave him so much fun
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
there lives a little white boy across the street,
i swear the chaps' got wings on his feet.
but he grovels around in charcoal and mud,
cos they say he hasn't got athletics in his blood.
he breaks British records, doesnt seem to stop,
but the Jamaican colours flutter from his rooftop.
Olympics the dream,but more than that,
little master Owens just wants to be Black.
there lives a little black girl just next door,
i can hear her tap dance on the linoleum floor.
she sings the opera from dusk to dawn,
she prances and twirls on the family's front lawn.
"your dancings' awkward, your voice baritone,"
it's not in your blood, leave the dreams alone.
she smears fairness creams day and night,
little miss Britney just wants to be White.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
tattooed girl
hello kitty
in need of a purge
she **** first
in the whip me
with a wet noodle
pain Olympics
her fruit launcher
like a summer papaya
***** gush
kissey squirts
candy crush
all gobbledygoo
and lickyfu
ooow she swayed
to the whip back crack
her torso bent
heaven sent
dipped in hot ***
and laughing lady sauce
she squealed
for
bok choy
eel ****
and slippy toy
**** buttered waffles
and gummy worms
lime and cherry *****
with candy sperms
you can find her
in the bend over den
eating puffer fish
so very Zen
toes gooey wet
spread on a cot
oh so high
**** and squat
******* baby
tied in a knot
**** bobba bubble
and chrysanthemum tea
nut scented black beer
and milk pearl ***
its the end of the line
ready to dine
get the gag
flex the spine
face to the ground
feet to the sky
held like a dove
***** splash cry
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
Remember, The Olympics
Not for Politics, but sport
Leaders of so many countries
Choose to use this to distort
The reason all are gathered
To present their efforts best
Not just for Queen or Country
But to continue with their quest
To achieve a brand new standard
A true Olympian at heart
It's time for the worlds people
To come together, do their part
We all cheer for our countries
But we should put them on the shelves
For the next two weeks in London
Cheer on the athletes, themselves
Today I am Canadian
Tomorrow maybe, Dutch
American and English
And French...well not so much
Albanian, Croatian
Serbian as well
I will cheer all the worlds athletes
And I will be the first one who will yell
When a record does get broken
Or a personal best is set
If a time gets smashed in swimming
Or a ball goes in the net
My country is my favourite
But, whichever flag's unfurled
For the next two weeks in London
I am a citizen of the world
I will sit here on my sofa
Acting like I'm on the bench
and I'll cheer on all the athletes
But...I won't cheer for the French!!
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
Far be it from me ~ to say that LEAD BALLOONS don't float ! For example, how thick is the lead, how big is the Balloon, is it filled with Helium, is it to be floated on earth , or perhaps the moon, with much less gravity and,,what about aboard a space craft ? SO, just like I said, I can;t say LEAD BALLOONS don't float. Could it be said, that Man's feelings are like LEAD BALLOONS? How Thick or Thin skinned are they, how big and attractive are the temptations? Who and what are the Tempters, that will draw our attention away from truths , carried aloft by LEAD BALLOONS. In any of these cases I ask ...." IS THERE A TETHER ATTACHED"? SO,,,, for the floating portion of the test !! Prepare as follows: Snorkels, Diving Suits, Flippers, Masks and Weighted Belts. Just the things we need for Proper Diving { just in case}. Fully suited Swan Dives may not seem in place at the Olympics, BUT at these Major Finals,,A fully suited person is REQUIRED. Double pike with a Full Twist help in escaping "THAT HUGE SUCTION SOUND". And of course the Perfect Bathing Cap, to keep hair out of FACE. There is Something about having a situation "RIGHT IN YOUR FACE" .
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
Trophies for last place,
And a Holiday for every weekend.
A taste of this and that...
OF Italy and Ireland and Asia and Germany
and every township in the county,
and 3 collective Miles of
Portable Toilets,
Strategically Positioned
throughout each event.
cause there is going to be a Lot of ****
Hooray for whatever we are celebrating this weekend.
Whichever one of the 30 different Woodstocks
Or week long Music Festivals
That exist only so
the Hippest of Hipsters
can congratulate each other
on how Indie they are.
Ya know, it's happy hour somewhere...
Why not party
All Day, Everyday?
Devalue the weekend
Like we have thanksgiving
And New Years.
A Five Kay For the Common Cold,
And We'll even give trophies for last place.
Cause we're all winners here.
and we're all hungry.
And What represents your heritage better than
Pizza or sauerkraut or General Tso's
And endless flowing barrels of refreshing, Ice cold, Domestically brewed and Nationally brand recognized Alcoholic Beverages?
IT's The Great Dumb Down, Charlie Brown!!!
A symptom of the Universe
If there ever was one.
Mass anesthesia to keep us all content
With our collective mediocrities,
our Forfeit Potential,
Our Day Job that doesn't pay very well,
But kind has benefits.
So we stay on.
In fear of nothing better.
It makes feel important.
Like Wheel of Fortune makes us feel smart.
(Wow, you can spell?!)...
Dwindling returns in a world of Beige and Pastels
And the Muted Grays of limestone concrete.
We Accept less and we Get less and we accept less and we Get less
And On And on and on,
till we hit that lowest common cultural denominator,
where your race is what food you eat,
And we all qualify for the special Olympics.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
obviously to think and enjoy it
you have to turn your mind
into a mollusc in an oyster shell,
slow... slow... (yawn)... slower...
then you suddenly get electrocuted!
boom! now you're thinking,
you're not as tense as a running
cheetah, hard rock heart muscle,
not too eager on karaoke of karate,
you're the tortoise outrunning
achilles; because the brain enables
such functioning, it's not exactly
an eager heart in the university of
the body - and why is it that domestic
life has completely succumbed to
the gratifications of chemistry with
toothpaste and bleach and other
cleaning materials; i wouldn't
be against doping athletes, i'd tell them
to embrace it... let's synthesise another
world record sprint in the olympics,
because an analysis would mean
talking about 9.58 / 9.51...
and that would be as interesting as looking
at the rosetta stone for clarification
of ancient egyptian: owl, big fish, little fish
carbohydrates boxed;
and still a flea could outrun you,
a flea, yeah, never mind the cheetah.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
there's something about her
you just cant figure out
she runs with her legs
slightly wobbling
she comes last in her whole year
yet she smiles like shes
won the olympics
she falls over
she runs into trees
and falls over while
scraping her knees
and despite the sting
she grins
she gets back her
maths test and came
last in the year
yet she is laughing
with stitches in her sides
her mother just
yelled at her for something
that happened at school
with some girls kicking her
when she hit back she was
the one who got detention
yet she sits in her room
giggling about a boy in her year
with her best friend on the phone
she laughs
she smirks
she grins
and chuckles
at life around her
did anyone notice
the red stains on her sleeves?
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC
the year opened on two kinds of olympics:
Sochi and selfie.
we spent months looking for
one missing plane
276 missing girls,
and 43 missing students.
from Ukraine to Mexico,
Palestine to Venezuela,
to Ferguson,
the front of the battle lines
were crammed full.
their stories captivated us,
their movements motivated us.
we snapchatted, we vined and instagrammed,
we remembered their names.
Malala Yousafzai
to Mike Brown.
Eric Garner to Ebola.
we made some friends
and some enemies.
and I think,
when I look back,
years from now,
at the year 2014,
the first thing to come to mind will be,
"I was there."
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
these games 2010 vancouver olympics are about performance under tremendous pressure more than they are about sport our expectations destroy us how do athletes possibly in training their entire lives cope with cameras nationalism corporate media mania? these distinguished people fallible humans with frail emotions doubts superstitions insecurities just like everyone else sustain skill phenomenal precision how do they sleep at night? carry on relationships with spouses family friends? endure eminent separateness loneliness? do gold medal winners become bloated rock stars conceited movie stars overpaid professional athletes? do losers become life’s could have been a contender drunk in obscurity casualties? what price in human terms these games? hey when joannie rochette hit ice prayer to mom i cried love watching sports this gorgeous display of human talent yet wonder about underlying meaning consequence sports or spectacle?
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 8:23 PM UTC
Versions of Faith in the City:
Food parcels Baptist Trinity Church
Post euphoric Olympics nation building
dashed by morally decrepit
Premiership football -
Obscenity chokes dumb defence.
A late Summer's surge,
harshly the un-starred
kick those generic dustbin lids
crumpled again.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 3:15 PM UTC
"Gone to one’s Glory" so they say.
Where exactly is it that, if we’re all headed that way?
Let ’s ask around to see where and what people think Glory will be.
It might be one place for you and another for me.
Some people, view Glory as a place out beyond the blue, with pearly gates.
They imagine it will be like walking into a magical, nirvana escape.
"I am a restricted diabetic who must pass up the desserts that I like.
Glory for me would be a place like Food Network where I can indulge and delight, and never worry about an insulin spike"
"As an athlete who loves to train my body to the highest level of fitness
Glory for me would be a place of perpetual summer Olympics."
"I am an obese lady with a hundred pounds to lose.
Glory for me would be a place that receives all, even those as big as a caboose."
"As an amputee who lives with stumps
Glory for me would be a place where you get new legs, to run like Forrest Gump."
Winfrey, Bezos, Buffett, and Gates?
Have you discovered Glory here on earth?
"For me, an astronaut, who loves to travel in outer space
I would find Glory to be a place to encounter those outside of the human race."
Glory might not be as far away as some make it seem; we may be shocked!
Glory may be another town, another neighborhood or just around the block.
When ones we love go to their glory we moan and we grieve
But what if we’ve got it all wrong like most other things we believe?
Going to one’s Glory might just mean going on to achieving one's highest dreams
The ancestors described what they thought glory would be
Using their highest imaginations and creativity.
For us It may be imperative and the right time to change that old narrative
Glory might be one place for you and another place for me
In the meantime, in this life, let’s stay present, and be all that we can be.
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
I was born on a leap year
Right before the Millenium
A family of five in Mexico were stabbed
Six days before I arrived
And in the same month
(But half the days)
That Rusty won the first NASCAR race
In Japan
Call me a Scorpio, I don't mind
I was born in the year of the rat
And the zodiac says that fire's my element
But I always liked my time spent in water
Pearl is to the ancients
What Topaz is today
Though neither value much
To the people on the Boeing 747
Or the Ilyushin Il-76 cargo plane
That killed 349 people
With the force of their collision
When you look up the day
That I came to be known
As another member of the living
They'll tell you all about the fatal, terrible crash
That I was too young to remember or even witness
Being born in the '90's earns me
No extra respect
No reverent awe
No special treatment
I was born too late for the long-haired peace
Disco and drugs
A John Hughes-like high school
And only my parents got away with
Sweat pants and leg warmers
Or turtleneck sweaters
I am just another 96 baby
But they don't make them like us
Anymore
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
Only half watching the Sochi Olympics and
wondering why all of a sudden ice hockey
without brawling gap-toothed players
seemed so captivating as the puck was blocked
effortlessly by a graceful skating illusion
did I realize that behind that face mask and
and billowing raven hair was a bright-red
lipsticked beautiful face that totally shook
my floor. In my state of inattention I found
myself attracted to a hockey player
Scared the hell out if me until I realized that
it was women's competition
r ~ 9Feb14
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
As a young girl she was grumpy
All the boys thought she was dumpy
Then she got fit -
Here's the best bit -
Now she runs for her country!
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 3:11 PM UTC
Everyone says
"Oh, don't worry! It's just a phase."
Or even worse,
"You'll grow out of it soon."
And so you begin to think
That the quirks and smirks
You see in the mirror
When you've wiped the shower fog clear
Are somehow wrong and undesirable
To the masses of others outside your door
Even if what you see makes you happy.
And so you try to hide
Behind conformity and masks
Of aloofness,
Of apathy,
Of indifference,
Of nonchalance,
Until you yourself begin to believe
You've passed the phase!
You've grown out of it!
You're finally someone whom the world
Can pour its love and adoration on!
And so you wait for that sparkling moment,
When you go from ugly duckling
To ravishing debonair desirable swan,
Yet the days turn into weeks into months,
And finally years have passed away
But nothing happened.
And you find yourself wiping away
The shower fog with a tired hand
Only to see the quirks and smirks
That used to make you happy
Are gone and for what gain to you?
Where are the masses of adoring friends?
Where are the praises of who you've become?
You're all alone like you've always been.
But I ask you,
Is this really who you want to be?
Where's the girl who recites Chaucer?
And rolls down grassy hills?
Where is she whose snarky comments
Could hours of hilarity fill?
Where's the girl who laid bricks
Side by side with her father?
And imagined up the neighborhood
Olympics with his other two daughters?
So I'll ask you again,
Face in my mirror,
Are you happy?
Is this who we're going to be?
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
I returned from three days of golf
At Lake Orion, with a philosophical man.
A PhD talked the ear off me,
And spoke so deeply on the meanings
Of life as we approached the green.
Across the fence in a sawgrass meadow
I saw a doe grazing in spite of us.
I don't remember much of his diatribe
But the ball and the doe stuck.
He continued on the fallacy of memory,
Asking me to name the cities of the Olympics:
Mexico, Rome, Beijing, Montreal,
I think I was able to name them all;
But the ****** pup swimming
Beneath the walkway
Dragging a branch underwater
Cleared the air,
Like a thump on my chest,
Took my breath away,
And stopped my ear.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
It was my first time
I was fifteen years old
And it was 8 inches.
Eight. Whole. Inches.
Laying motionless in my hands,
Long and lifeless as I stared excitedly, nervously
My first ...haircut
I spun around in the salon chair to see my exposed jaw, shoulders, neck
Holding in my hands a ponytail that would soon be sent to Locks of Love
My first legitimate haircut, not the simple snips my mom would attempt in the bathroom when split ends were too unbearable,
A real style
Back straight and shoulders proud,
Uncertainty left on the tiles beneath the feet of beaming confidence,
Leaving dead the sheet that covered scared eyes and shy smiles…ever since I've developed an addiction to change,
Can't leave it the same for more than two months
And the chime of the door behind me opened endless opportunities:
Brown, auburn, gold, red, blond, yellow
Black
Brown black, blue black, soft black, natural black, always back to black
Straight, curly, layered, cropped, feathered, fringed, shaved
Undercut, mohawk, faux hawk, that weird thing where I gel it to the side and kind of look like a boy...
And yeah, sometimes I get sick of the sexist comments
People telling me I've got a boy's haircut
That short hair is for men, but
So were the olympics and voting and public education and getting published,
And thriving in the workplace and wearing pants,
And god knows im not going to give up either my Levi's or my razor
I'm not going to keep worrying; man's words will stop me from doing what i love
And I've been called lesbian, boyish, butch, manly, androgynous, anti-effeminate,
But I know I don't stand alone.
So thank you, Natalie Portman, P!nk,
Rihanna, Katy Perry, Anne Hathaway,
Kaley, Megan, Erin, Kim, Skylar
I don't know all of you well,
But the risks you've taken with your hair
Are an inspiration to those who care
So short haired women,
Keep doing your thang.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
In 1972,
Nixon shook hands with Mao
and the world turned its back on Taiwan.
In 1972,
Ceylon changed its name to Sri Lanka,
Okinawa returned to Japan,
and Jane Fonda became Hanoi Jane.
In 1972,
twin Olympics were held,
hungry tigers on wooden skis dashing
down the white slopes of Sapporo,
while the streets of Munich ran red
with the blood of slain Israelis.
In 1972,
Elvis was still the king,
Elton wasn’t quite the queen
and Prince was still a quiet teen.
On September 21, 1972,
Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos
placed my grandmother’s homeland under martial law.
I was born that day
while my grandmother wept.
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 9:17 PM UTC