"overcharged" poems
The Rainbow has a beard
(where's Eric)
So many magnificent colors
so many sounds of the artist reaching
the tones so inventive and creative
it was new then, different, not like another
the melody carried away in timeless echoes
sending us off drifting into the unknown
the burning hot strings overcharged
while Mr. Bruce treated our ears lyrically
the Ginger was sprinkled everywhere
exciting the air molecules with explosions
off timed, eccentric patterns of rhythm
but Eric was the warrior of epic proportions
the white room with black curtains
just beyond the crossroads of that time
and the sunshine or their love blossomed
and indeed the rainbow did have a beard
to this day the performances continue
greying temples now appear in the shadows
still very special to the old warriors that remain
but not like the Jedi from whence he came
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
The ******* fan,
Blue shirts
Strangers, friends,
Caffine caused adrenaline
Blood pulsing
Sparks of thought,
Twitching
I asked for one
They gave me two,
Two!
Overcharged
Twitching
Tapping
"Chris..!"
Not thinking
just going
going, going
tapping, twitching
that ******* fan
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 1:53 PM UTC
••••••
Inspired by
Krista Delle Femine
~Still the Fool~
••••••
I always find myself here
With little to no explanation
I'm thinking it's because I elicit fear
They avoid my intensity
Every bombastic and overcharged emotion that overflowes from me
I believe they mean to
But they seem to pull themselves through
It's always something I did
Or didn't do
It's so much rejection
I've lost track of the lesson
It's only humility
And wanting from someone
Something they don't have for me
They often pretend
Put up a good front and deny the lie
I have to keep all of me inside
And leave it for everyone else to interpret what one of my issues it could be
Then it falls on me
Only on me
We don't have to wait and see
What I can't be
Even alone I can't be free
Not really
I'm still the fool writing about this
Letting them live rent free in my poetry
©2024
Aug 2, 2024
Aug 2, 2024 at 2:52 PM UTC
i told you thanksgiving was my favorite holiday when i forgot to give tradition something to prop itself up on i lost the code to your apartment and now i walk the two vertical and one horizontal blocks to your house and peek inside the mailbox for a security question and answer session.
have you considered sending a postcard from where you are now, or does the idea of you having an affair with the mailman stop your conscience from turning on snooze?
when my body is cremated and my lungs turn to dust who will stop me from sending extremely drunk texts while being extremely drunk?
try commissioning somebody to make a marble statue out of you. find out you were overcharged when it turns out to be just a huge clump of marshmallow fluff, when you're lactose intolerant, when your kids are gonna have it even better than you did and you had it really good.
you take your kids to MOMA,
and i wonder why we never had *** outside except for sometimes on your balcony under a quilt. i'm not upset about it because it'll be 2065 soon and outside will be obsolete and you and i will be something similar to the Byzantium period where we have to struggle to remember it existed.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
I like feeling like danger girl.
I like feeling like a shooting star
blazing across your eyes
and gone in an instant.
I love being the whimsical
day dream of a woman
I had hoped to be when I was twelve
and feeling trapped.
Listless within my own body
yet every nerve ending was electrified
like I was an overcharged battery.
Zip. Zap.
I want to dash across your heart
leaving no bruise or cut
but a stinging burn.
Icy me all you want
but I have already combust.
I live in my own scorched skin.
Zip. Zap.
There’s a ringing in your ears.
The whirl of wind
winding past your head
ruffling your hair
raising goosebumps
yet you cannot shiver.
I like feeling like danger girl.
I like free falling this role.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
I carve myself out of a cardboard cutout,
I wish I wasn't empty,
stuck between two worlds that do not want me.
I am like the globe,
shattered.
Rushing blood gurgles through my veins to my head, my
words sound like Russian out my hot mouth
"so spicy"
they say it cause I'm foreign to them.
My blood pressure rises,
makes
the tea kettle screams,
on the perfect pictured home oven,
i am fuming.
I look out at the white picket fence,
raised oppressed gates,
overtaxed, overcharged, overfed, rising still.
The fury builds inside me,
I stomp the fence,
break the oven,
crash the globe,
and weep at the crap I was made out of.
we will never win.
but, it doesn't matter if we're the minority or majority,
the darker you are,
the faster you talk,
the farther away from the home land
...
they'll still give you the gun.
But, they'll blame you for everything that happens after.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
on Stage
a peacock of makeup
the comedian
bating thunderous uproar
knighting fury
turning humour over the belfries
of the overcharged assemblage
he fouls with them
utilizing his vile material
putting together ideas that no brain wants scribe
visuals
you create yourself
(but
your twist at his bidding)
you become broken down and ******
applied apart by his gagging speech
and his splintering costumes of mood
the comedian builds from this
until rage
and ruptures of relief
integrate...
a berserk laughter is result
kettled in the mob reaction
a collective convulsion
a need
more than a mirth
japes dressed in death
have foraged a credible rebirth
his soldiers attired
he has seized his corps of souls
his Mad recruits of Chaos
the comedian pulls out a plastic toy Sabre
and directs the revulsion
(the Grand Prank)
in a charge against
the wealthy neighbours
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 11:41 AM UTC
“Make things beautiful,”
she said. “Yes,”
they all agreed.
“Yes, make beautiful
things, not ugly things.
Stop making ugly things,
stop making things ugly.”
they clucked their tongues
shaking their heads side-
to-side their eyes staring
not moving and disapproving
overcharged black cat clocks
over my tiny shoulders
another attempted monster
someone scary on my paper
meant to be scary
a werewolf or a vampire
a cut-up human monster
pencil lines infused with the
pressure of wanting
to make real
to be taken
seriously little hands
shaking
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
When love peeps beauty oozes from each curve
Wonderful innocent beauty is just ready to serve
Love is overcharged by beauty and in state of verve
Let my sweetheart give you all what you deserve
Sentiments have taken me to the road of fulfillment
Burnt in fire of love i have nothing but beauty in front
To confront brilliant beauty let love give its judgement
My sweetheart let my love being blunt to bear the brunt
We are aliens in this community of ****** and rascals
Let us be in some other real world of fairies and angels
Let us in sheer jubilation burn all our remaining candles
Let us be really staunch followers of all love principles
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish you didn't
Love me.
It feels like I trapped you.
Like you'd choose to stay with me
And stay miserable.
You think I'm the best
You can do.
That shows how much you know.
You were overcharged
For the limited services I provide.
Return me and get your money back.
Then invest it in someone
Without tears and cracks.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
A taxi driver charged me fifty bucks for a short trip.
And then the S.O.B. had the nerve to ask for a tip.
When I said no, he started giving me lip.
I pulled him out of his taxi and broke his hip.
With his expensive fares, he robs people blind.
When he asked for a tip, he was out of his mind.
I punched that sorry punk over and over again.
He tried to fight back by kicking me in the shin.
But I didn't even feel it and I certainly didn't care.
When I was done, he had to but a wheelchair.
When he overcharged me and asked for a tip, it was a stupid thing to do.
If you're a taxi driver who does the same, I'll find you and kick your *** too.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 9:05 AM UTC
Burning wood from winter’s past
drifts through open windows
welcoming new smells and scents
marked down by priceless
conversation
breathing in smoldering memories
from different night skies.
Shadow’s steal the light
gleaming from eyes
bought by smiles
simply wanting to be seen
dancing on wet lips
dipped in pools
of overcharged beer
And free
Free
Free
Desire.
But lust costs
the night
and the morning
is the bill you hid
under moist pillow sheets
filled with tangled hair
smelling like the day
Before
shampoo and routine.
Possession is
the ultimate attainment
of will.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC