"overdrawn" poems
Mixing tea, let's say lavender with something as simple as milk
Must sound silly and weird at first glance, as both come with their
own tastes and flavors which seem to not match at all.
Even the most unmatching couple can find bliss, harmony and
perfection in their very relationship, however.
Such as for the tea;
The milk manages to soften, embrace, advertise the taste of lavender
while leaving a pleasant aftertaste which is alike a ghost poorly
detectable, but present nonetheless after all.
With some sugar to sweeten this experience, it becomes divine,
something I would never have thought of, of such an odd couple.
The image of the lavender becomes overdrawn by the milk,
Engaging in a pure, creamy, brief white which reflects light just
in a majestic sense.
This is a taste to become lost in whilst reading a book in the best
of lightings, together with someone who causes your heart to race
and just turn ablaze
~ Umi
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
Freed from the blackness that fills my nights
Awoken from the nightmares plaguing my mind
For a short stretch only to receive a brief taste
Holding on for I know she must make haste
Like the foggy windows on a summers night
So have I felt the warmth of another
Never wanting to leave her comfort
Never wanting to see the light
Like roses at the peak of their bloom
Only to enjoy briefly till death ensues
Withered away and dying as they are
So am I breaking as we have to part
Joy is a bitter taste
For it never stays to long
You hold on until you are unable
Until it leaves you withdrawn
Am I but just another face
Another notch upon your bed
Scattered amongst the crowd
Overlooked and overdrawn
For if I know what is true
But I wish it were a lie
To face another second
As I feel my dreams die
On my own I must go
For you’ve taken to much
What I wish I would receive
I only gave to another
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
Broke
Unable to finalize any purchase
Checking
For change in the last places that one searches
Insufficient
To the point I'm unable to ward off the throes of destitution
Bankrupted
By devaluing those who have not made restitution
Insolvent
To the point of having to fight off the urge to curse
Disallowed by the prose that places value and give credit....to verse
Denied
Any credit accrued....maybe even unearned
Reevaluation
With no accounting for the time you
SPENT
Learning what you have learned
Depreciation or Appreciation
Cannot be quantified by the lack of someone.saying thanks
Interest will eventually be of value
Once accrued... but for now I must accept
That I'm simply overdrawn at my memory banks
Investment in my own value
Will allow me growth
In my own ...
......personal
Checking account
Helping me in balancing the books
Keeping me payed up and happy
BY
Always giving others their true valuation
So that ego doesnt become a currency
That is subject to... such a devastating inflation
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
She was the rain
when I was spring
but summer became I,
alas it was just a fling
Naked branches in a
dendritic pattern
fastening on to leaves
as Fall fell.
But drives away the soft snow
the blizzards unwanted
a stormy winter
unexpected
Skyward, the dark side of the moon
drawn to the faint traces of light -
continuously teased the edges
of the forgotten surface
obsession consumed I
to start a spin
I grow to become the
hunter only to see
the chamois conquering
my struggle
like an insect trapped
in the strings of
the eight legged
she beast
beating a
rhythmic tune
signalling a
tell
tale
heart
the end of me
no bang
only a cleaver
silently shushing
with an overdrawn
whimper
and
repeat.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 3:31 AM UTC
The world's out of order
My life is a mess
I need a weekend of chillin'
To help decompress
A few days of football
And drinks and good friends
Will fix up my mood
And get this blackness to end
My wife's with another
And my car died en route
To my place of employment
So, I got the boot
The dog found a new friend
he met up with a skunk
And what's left of my house
Has a wonderful funk
I'm sitting here working on Sunday's headache
Even though it's still only Friday
I'm running a tab, cause the bank's overdrawn
It's a bourbon and beer and a rye day
My ex called this morning
Said our daughters in jail
And she has no money
to help pay the bail
That black cloud of dismal
Still over my head
I should have rolled over
And stayed home in bed
They say your problems
happen in threes
Multiply that by five
And it happened to me
So it's time to move on
Sit and chill for a while
Forget all the crap
And just sit, drink, and smile
I'm sitting here working on Sunday's headache
Even though it's still only Friday
I'm running a tab, cause the bank's overdrawn
It's a bourbon and beer and a rye day
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 7:23 PM UTC
You can wipe the makeup off your overdrawn cheekbones, Barbie
But you're still plastic.
And you're still hollow.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 10:24 PM UTC
I keep waiting for news
that my body will tell
you've been paying your dues
but we still have to sell
please, there's life yet to use
sorry, next stop is hell
I keep waiting for news
to dispel
I don't want to go there
where so many have gone
just pretend I'm not here
and let's just carry on
I'll be quiet I swear
sorry, time's overdrawn
but I don't want to go there
begone!
I don't want to get sick
I don't want to look old
there's no buckets to kick
there's no streets paved with gold
look you skeletal *****
take your scythe hit the road
cuz I don't want to die sick
scared and cold!
©2013 Lyn
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
The bank account overdrawn,
the west coast -- naked, easy --
passenger seat and head resting on cold glass,
seeing the pines turn to ash to evergreen to redwoods to sand.
I bit her ear and asked for her name,
in Before George's sanctuary,
blush, blushing -- finger to lips hushing,
drinking cognac and speaking in flaming coal
I saw the clouds behind the night sky,
I saw Jesus teach himself to fly,
and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and carried
her to the shore, Samantha, she said,
bulging mind,
anorexic action,
I bit her ear and asked her room number,
in the ocean's frontline,
hush, hushing -- backs of hands and blushing,
drinking cognac and speaking in simmering oil
I saw the night behind the clouded sky,
I saw a fly transfigure into Jesus,
and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and frayed
the remnants of grassroot and buttercup,
drunk high tide,
sober dry iced,
The bank account cleared its throat,
"Room 210 and I'd like a ***** and coke."
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
All-new
****** lands
(except for the natives)
dying to be properly deflowered and nailed and ******* and erroded
to make way for gun forts and gold mines
(they can be built!)
they're called Zale's and they love money
funny, not to all but to enough
call them crazy call them savage
but maybe they just love their homes
and don't own the kinds of weapons that make the loudest noise
but that **** the slowest and with least dignity.
Color-me a Cosmo girl
fit to be cover material, just look at my hair
look at Pocahontas, you know she was bald?
Hideous, un-English in every way
probably because she wasn't
but gotta give credite where credit is rejected, overdrawn
maybe never even earned just splurged and secreted
but wanna hear a secret?
The land belongs to nobody
not a soul not a body not a mind
they knew this but knew others were destroying it
that's why they were mad,
not because they were children who had their toys stolen
but because a living lifeless matter was being assaulted
catapulted into the future of steam engines and fried chicken
feathers blowing in the winds of convertables
they took scalps to maybe open the minds to the error of ways
not that one's head should be disassembled
but one can't seem so oblivious or wide eyed when shown the facts
of obvious emotional response
but we are young
dinosaurs were old and we have time to forget.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
Standing at ease,
It never swings, there is no beeeze
I can see his ffootsteps
Overdrawn in the morning light
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
dysfunctional feelings
"I love you too"
exactly my point,
influenced by conformation.
direct deposit
overdrawn enthusiasm
settles my broken heart
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
Torrential, lightning and a river on Decatur,
straightened tie, loaded gun, staggered
down to house 423, a big wet bottle in my hand,
a choir of angels in my head, I confessed to you
that I never much cared for Frost, possibly both
roads lead to an affair with me, time means little more
than air, cotton candy fever dreams, melting wedding bands,
a stain on your white dress, tender, torn up, seeing
Jesus on the cross at 3 am, it's Tuesday, borders, lines, barriers,
milk cartons, hamster wheels, the sun stayed away for fear
of witnessing this itchy massacre, plans? I find them trite,
quick to betray, overdrawn bank accounts, flat tires,
17-year-old quick ***** the wrinkles in the mirror,
the road back home, detour, detour, going down south
by way of 35, oceans of highways, shorelines of grief,
steady shots of grace in the passenger seat, where have
I smelled that before? Change your perfume, if I kiss you,
it needs to be strange, frightening, splitting the seams of
norm skull and disemboweling the sanctity of routine,
it's easy to put up the picket fence, easier yet to paint it black,
but behind the curtains of my .32 caliber grin,
lies a quivering child waiting for ma to get off work,
babysit me, hospital gowns, looking for lost blue crayons,
the bouquet rots on the windowsill, remember the first kiss?
Doped on caffeine, sleepless because Shorty partied too hard,
tile floor, porcelain, your strapless top undressed itself,
earthquake waltz, borderline insane, milk thistle,
both roads lead to an affair with me.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
this is the dwelling where wind is a bell and a beacon for death.
where youthful pursuit is punctured by family names or famine of fortune.
boys in bands buoyed by Onos and shared women.
lawyer fathers and social ***** mothers whose children are forbidden to **** up.
one street reserved and smothered by talking townsmen
whose belligerent brides keep tabs on their fellow middle-aged malicious
minded low-lifes
engorged in gossip are the parading fat men who rise early to feed off ones business capital tragedies
****** shortcomings of the stuck and single prey off tweens tweeting of body glitter and b-cups.
clique chick coquettes play house with their shiny image seeking male counterparts
who sing songs of their leather faced lady friends with plastic claws they now admit they would never marry
antagonizing cute couples secretly copulating with former loves' lust
only to mingle with conspirators molding to dominant thought
once a waitress always a waitress
with overdrawn bragging rights and unemployment checks
serving snobs like themselves who sip savignon
self-righteous polo popping perverts accompanying their prized play things
who join the charles river emigrants and stale french pastries
scouting the waste colored palace of prejudice.
now blades of winter draw months of blue blood
bringing forth frozen thoughts slowly dripping onto thawing skin.
another warm summer sun forthcoming
foreshadowed by this wind-chafing forlornness.
though i will fall in love again
and bridge rats will always be kings.
Apr 21, 2011
Apr 21, 2011 at 3:33 PM UTC
It started with the wide-leg Giorgio Armani pants
And it all went downhill from there.
They were so chic, and might improve her stance,
She could wear them to the market, hell, almost anywhere!
When she put them in her shopping cart
And continued to enter her credit card number,
A shot went right through her fashion-hungry heart
A jolt she still remembers!
It was the feeling of a new era
A new time in the lifespan of her wardrobe.
She would become a Prada-shopper, a vintage Chanel-wearer
No longer would she need to shuffle around her apartment in that awful bathrobe.
She'd strut down the street, sporting her Carolina Herrera.
A month later, a tingle slipped through her spine
As she donned a lapis Michael Kors
It was that sudden thought, "This dress is all mine!"
"It's mine now, so it isn't yours!"
From then on, it was her bank account that took the hardest hits
Money trickled through her Valentino-studded hands,
Down her Vera **** hips,
Came running down in thin, green strands.
Of course it all came falling apart when she saw the flawless Birkin bag,
Sitting there in the Hermes shop window
She knew it was the one thing she'd yet to snag!
However, there was just one thing she didn't know.
As she had the cashier ring it up,
Dropping another ten-grand
The cashier had her card snatched right up!
For this, Madame Fashion couldn't stand.
"Give it back!", she said, snapping her gold-dusted finger
"But dear you're overdrawn," said the snappy lady.
How she wanted to scream like soprano opera singer!
It was then that things got real shady.
In a lurch of madness, Madame jumped the counter!
The other shoppers were struck into awe and fear.
The cashier woman tried to stop her,
But Madame had just barely escaped, finally in the clear!
As she ran down fifth avenue, clutching her precious steal
A horrible revelation took over this felon,
She'd forgotten that she had wanted the purse in gorgeous teal!
Instead she had gotten melon.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 3:55 AM UTC
On the 12th day of Christmas
My troubles gave to me........
12 unpaid bills
11 ringing cash tills
10 packets of batteries
09 invites to parties
08 year olds a screaming
07 unwanted toys redeeming
06 packets of dog biscuits
05 unwanted parking tickets
04 overdrawn credit cards
03 strange looking leotards
02 forgotten to buy turkeys
And a garage for those car keys
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 3:03 PM UTC
My day gets started early
I am up before the dawn
I do yardwork for a living
I get up to cut the lawn
Each morning brings another
Job that must be done
I've got just so many hours
I'm racing barefoot with the sun
They say that Time is Money
And I am always overdrawn
I wake up for work each morning
I blink twice, my day is gone
The only ending to my problem
Is when the snow begins to blow
That's when everything lies dormant
Waiting for the spring to grow
The trees drop leaves like crazy
An orange carpet all around
I have to mulch their golden cover
I can't just leave it on the ground
I fertilize and aerate
I trim the hedges by the drive
I pull the weeds there in the garden
I help to make your plants survive
They say that Time is Money
And I am always overdrawn
I wake up for work each morning
I blink twice, my day is gone
The only ending to my problem
Is when the snow begins to blow
That's when everything lies dormant
Waiting for the spring to grow
It's not a job for many
In fact it's not a job for most
Each year we hire newbies
And in three weeks most are toast
I wake up every morning
Hit the floor, I'm on the run
This ain't the job for many
But for me, it is the one.
They say that Time is Money
And I am always overdrawn
I wake up for work each morning
I blink twice, my day is gone
The only ending to my problem
Is when the snow begins to blow
That's when everything lies dormant
Waiting for the spring to grow
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
I told myself
it'd be all right
I'd pay it back
before you even noticed
it was gone
but I should have
known myself
better
I hate myself
My life's a mess
I'm overdrawn on friends
and can't dig myself out
of this hole called debt...
You gave me
all the tools I needed
To be free
And all I had to do was work
Honestly
But I didn't /And I will
Next time.
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 11:04 AM UTC
Tonight's expulsion
Requires anonymity and mild discretion,
For he will not bring about the disgrace
Duly owed, long overdrawn.
I've laid my heart on the table,
My ******* soul on the line,
But you chose across the partition,
Between a sure thing and a
Mild gamble.
Even the poorest of human examples
Will surely best the most distinguished ape.
Oh how you laugh with him,
How you direct your smile to his eye.
Your fingers locked as one,
Your remarks intended for private ears.
Your poisonous kiss,
Sickening embrace.
You know who he is,
You know what you find yourself
Tumbling emphatically towards.
And yet you fail to spot the trick,
To understand the things you do.
How I long to know what he knows,
To be where he is,
To have such vaunted attributes.
And despite hours of desperation,
Following weeks of prior preparation,
Overwhelmed by innate privilege and
Blind luck.
**** this.
It's the hand holding that gets me.
And the fact that I haven't spoke in ages,
But you both haven't noticed.
Perhaps I ought to cast it all aside,
Collect my fragile mind and consider
That life makes erratic progress
Toward an incandescent horizon.
One defined by sublime revelation, and
Glorious triumph. A decision
Of colour and love, so
Enchanted, so majestic, crowned
By everlasting wisdom; a moment
Of inexorable beauty, of
Magnificent grace.
Such a thing...
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 1:02 PM UTC
Decaying inside
I'm rotting away
In this solemn hour
I peel away
Redeem my aching soul
for I'm soon to meet my end
I feel it there
just around the bend.
This beast inside of me
clawing to get out of this cage
is foaming at the mouth
in all it's pent up rage.
Decaying inside
I'm rotting away
In this solemn hour
I peel away
I send out a prayer
lost among the roar of gun fire
these dark wishes cloud my mind
breaking free are my darkest desires
I cry out in pain as I am morphing
insanity is all that is left behind
and I have not one clear thought
in my overdrawn mind.
Decaying inside
I'm rotting away
In this solemn hour
I peel away
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
Start the day. In what way
was the cold spring, last wet summer a
global warning, indicator. Says
one commentator on the op-ed page, the
dislocations, wars, famines will tax humanity's
technology, philosophy, even religion's ability
to see past daily survival to
the music in the rock. I've doubted the taboos
one frog among many in the slow-heating beauty
of the world we knew. Aaron's coconut.
Peepers peeping in the heavy rains, wet
with joy. Hawks and crows thrive below the jet
stream, noise, perhaps our fears
are overdrawn, we'll get along, it'll all hold together 10,000 years more,
the Holocaust will never be repeated, lush mountain and sere
desert equally appreciated, baseball
lazily paced summer evenings, the harvest in the fall
a sure thing, and the dying back a blessing come to all.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
The secret of my energy
can be found in my false libido,
unwanted erections,
vibrations on the
inner-city bus.
My blue collar life
with a white collar tongue,
tried pyramid schemes,
tried working for the right thing
on the wrong side of the bar.
Worked on my oral ***
until going down was an art,
worked on my poetry
in the hope I could ******** through
the empty spaces,
clear absence of a career path.
The secret of my energy
can be found in my distance
from anything or anyone.
The secret of my energy
can be found in my contempt
for telling those I care for
about who I love
or what I ate for lunch.
Tried drinking green tea,
meditating by the ocean waves
until I sang the ballad of the sea.
Tried tuning my guitar
to the point the strings would snap
in the hope of portraying emotion
my talent had always lacked.
The secret of my energy
can be found in my distaste
for positivity and pessimism,
for conservative thought
and overdrawn liberalism,
for whistle-blowers
and tone-deaf singers
of flag-waving anthems
and golden age dreams.
Tried holding my hand to my heart,
pledging allegiance
to red wine, white skin, and blue truth.
The secret of my energy
can be found in every idea
I had reached out for
only to find that in my pursuit
I could only become the sum
of all that I knew,
of all that I was,
of all I outgrew.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
**** my conscious; bleeding thin as flesh.
I never dare to speak in desperate conditions.
Measured breaths and well timed semi-sweet slurs
aren't saying much at all and only lead to terms of
casuistry that slumber, unperturbed, between lips
ever unchanging from their lifeless arrangement.
I dream only to refresh my disenchanted view.
Nervous eye contact will bring me to my knees,
where I tend to contusions and seared wounds.
This is happiness at close. It sounds the same
as the attention-starved ***** calling for a
photo and then dying bit-by-bit at the flash.
I've overdrawn this only to scratch it out
and reassure myself I will acquiesce,
steadfast to the fashion of your diagnosis.
I was always second guessing the way this should go.
So when it boils down to nicotine soaked lungs,
just to burrow through this weekend, I'll be dead
on arrival from induced excuses, tailored to your
every solace.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Parental love could shatter the eggshell persona of a rascal young man
who carved ***** rhymes into the boy’s bathroom stalls,
who doesn’t understand the point of deadlines,
who saves his milk money to spend on strike anywhere matches
to burn shed bark from the maple in the back of the park.
He remembers the days before mom rediscovered her vices;
the days when there were cocktail meatballs and Christmas cookies.
Those years he will never get back now seem stringy, translucent,
and barely clinging to the fault lines of a shifting mind.
One day he will think of those cookies and taste bitter almonds
as his checking account becomes overdrawn,
as the fix-a-flat in his tire doesn’t stop the escaping air,
as he slips into the warm blanket of Bombay Sapphire.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
Etches in the ***** mirror, like ghost across the skies.
draw hopeful words in steam from all my weakened sighs
The morning brings bravery to meet the darkness with defiance
but night fills my heart with longing and the slightest stroke of violence.
The eyes in front of me,
reflections of what I want to be
aren't the eyes I actually see
the purest form of what is me.
Wrinkles pouring 'cross my face
meet the stretch marks of wasted space.
I check the clock.
My bank account.
The scale.
Numerical definitions of what I have and what I don't.
But I cannot check my happiness to see if I am overdue.
No check on Friday will fill my heart... which has been overdrawn.
How to measure the strength of soul, before the vault is all but gone...
The etches in the mirror say
"Tomorrow is another day." while advertisements of existence blur my vision.
They tell me this is life.
They tell me work your job. Pay your bills. Accept your place.
But I have slowly learned that I will never agree.
What will I do when words run out and I am left with an empty wallet, an empty mind, an empty heart?
Let me body decay before my strength does.
Let the words stay etched in my mind.
Tomorrow is another day
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 10:58 PM UTC
A lazy stack of gray clouds from london
Hung somberly over white plains yesterday
After the rain,
And work...
As I walked on the damp sidewalk
Under a tree;
And I gathered my thoughts,
Grim and overdrawn,
Like my checking account on payday....
As I walked on the damp sidewalk
Under a tree;
A bird dumped on me...
And I cried,
Like a MAN...
~ P (#asiwalked)
(11/19/2013)
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:01 AM UTC