"overs" poems
If you'd been here
When I was young,
You'd not forget
What we'd have done.
We'd climb roofs,
Jump in the river,
****** neighbour's pears,
Then skedaddle,
Laughing with sweat-matted hair,
Wiping off those grown-up cares.
We'd bumper-jump in four inch snow,
And never let our parents know.
Oh, such fun we two would do,
If I could stay as young as you.
We'd skate and bike,
Play street ball,
Act up in school,
Stand in the hall;
We'd hike with jars
Along country brooks,
Read and trade
Our comic books.
Lie in the sand,
Burn in the sun,
Forgetting it was time for home.
We'd never tire of our treats,
And often we'd forget to eat
Because we're having all our fun:
If you'd been here when I was young.
We'd play Tag and Red Rover,
Flags and Chase,
Then have sleep-overs.
We'd swap tomorrow
For daily pearls,
Then swap each other
For pretty girls.
We'd be up to our shenanigans,
Sleep the sleep,
Then start again.
This is the way
We'd have our fun,
If you'd been here
When I was young.
But now you're here,
And I'm much older,
The things we'd do
You'll do with others;
But when you need a boost to climb,
This old man has a shoulder.
Yes,
I'll sure have lots of fun,
For you're here now.
That keeps me young.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Memes! Angels, aberrations of opposition super standing
overseeing you,
The screamin' heebie jeebies.
Yo, where you wanta go, you axin me we just go
with it, the flow 'know?
What I mean is, are we memes or mes or messes of yeses
gone all johnny rcome late-rotten scarred scared, some thing not so far
from sacred when you put your mind to the whole idea of life being
at all. Thinking this is not easy. We are Able. Our belly's living waters cry out,
you are your brother's keeper, yes, you are.
Be leavin' that be, I am is, and you is,
too. When you apprehend the meme named
war.
That meme has led the me-me mob for as far as men
remember, but
now, machines remember for us, all the facts, just
the facts, ma'am.
Why'd the d go into a comma, Pop?
Welt (Duetch, bitte) Enshaung, glaube ich, vie leicht, aber
are we ever going to filter out these German bleed-overs?
stay tuned, next week the meme beacon is pulled down,
who shall pre or post or ex maybe vail, travail, like
trip
wow, I hate being a 20 year old vet back in the U.S. of A.
FTA All the way, Airborne
******** Herman Hesse ********
Jorney to and fro the east to west, and soon, et
cetera. Siam is a mere myth now, eh?
As the Narnia thing not called a heathen lie was allowed
allowable in mere Christianity.
I've only seen the English POV's on PBS, they may be filtered through
feedback, meme belching bursting bubbles from new wine 'nold vessels about to plode into eternity, singing along.
Thank you, very much. May I introduce, duce, intro duce, y'gittin this?
Duce means 2 if you see e squeen between, you see that?
Fun. No reason for fun? Who here, now, believes that or, no,
bees leavin' those lies be told?
Hunh? Y'know? Watch man, waht of the night?
See, what I mean? All this from me hearin' some guy say,
"Come and see, like that was okeh. For any body, n'me, too.
Thinking, as a past-time, is pointless. You know, if you act like it.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 1:21 AM UTC
Snapshot memories of are past
having so much fun with the hope that it would last
To my best friend Nan,
a beacon of light to a hurting world in need of love
To the truest friend I ever had
those memories by the stonewall
Started playing together as friends
She had blue eyes & long blonde hair
I had brown eyes and brown hair
roller skating on the sidewalk with the attached rollers with a key
Went down by the brook to catch poly wags
we both went to the same school
Having sleep overs was a blast
a secret passage to get to her father's soda shop
Taking ice cream and delicious candy
everything nice and dandy with Nancy
Yours was are youth to be captured with a precious smile
Cape cod trips when Nan would drive
going to a trip to Provincetown
watching the folks dive for money
Big ships coming to dock
the men would get the money in their mouths
The island we used to go
in a row boat along the beach
Looking for young boys and we found them
went to dances at the Bristol Boys Club
Doing the latest dance craze the Huck Buck
Boys wearing pegged pants and girls wore skirts
To cherish those lasting memories of a time ago
getting married
Nan had three children
Ann had six
To raise and cherish the family united in love
Today we are in are eighties
both with medical issues
Yet remained best friend's after all these years
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
Same **** different day
But today is New Year's Day
....Same **** different day
Hung over
New Year's Eve leftovers
Stuck on resolutions & do overs
Picking up the broken pieces & starting over
I headed to work with every intention to make it all better
Then I picked up "Friday's paper"
Said it once then said it twice
A part inside felt a little less safer
Homeboy died in Friday's paper
police Closed his eyes
but he finally feels a lot safer
Mommas screaming why in Friday's paper
Rather die than suffer & stay alive
Spend eternity w| her angel
Because in her eyes
There's no survival
Where's God when all you know is sinning
Baby's hungry so he prepared to break in
But that's not what they saying
Friday's paper headline **** break in"
He want the money & the drugs
So he break in
Food ain't enough & he breaking
How can he step forward in a world they already set locked gates in
In other words segregation
Buts it's decades later
Yea well you know segregation
White privilege
Under one nation
**** ain't nothing different
Just ask Friday's paper for confirmation
Poor white man w| mommy issues
finally had enough & shot up the whole school
Young black **** shot cs his black hoodie ain't seem too cool,
Ok Amber we coming to the rescue
Tyrone got kidnapped who?
I know y'all see this
or do y'all got a blind eye too
cs there's no reason why we have to fight to survive
while you ask daddy for a check or two
I'm living off a check or two
& you need 3 bathrooms to survive
why does the law apply to me
more than it does to you?
How do you look down on me
when I created you?
Lip injections,
hair extensions
ghetto expressions
that ain't you
but here comes Friday's paper right on cue
Zendayas dreads are unacceptable
twerking is ghetto too
While "keeping up" with the exact life you ridicule
then have the caucacity to put it in Friday's paper too
-G
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 11:46 AM UTC
No second chances!
No do-overs!
That is one of the regreatable rules of time.
No more pigtails & pretty dresses,
No more Horsey-back & Piggy-back rides,
No more Tee-ball & Soccer,
No more Marry Poppens & Wizard of OZ,
No more Popcorn & Video games,
No more homework & bed time stories,
No more marshmellow roasts & snipe hunts,
No more sand castles & sand dollars,
No more Sparklers & Pinwheels.
No time to pause & reflect!
It can only cause regret!
Enjoy it along the way while you can.
Everything is temporary.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
Love
Is like a rollercoaster
Spotlight shines hot like a toaster
Ups and Downs
Overs and Arounds
Heartbreaks and Heartaches
You always find a way through your mistakes
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
Dear Lovely, my tormented fair-maiden
I write thou in love, transparent and unhidden
I know you seek answers that are hard to find
searching this soul and this ****** heart of mine
Seeking the signs of a lover's true intention
while hanging on the lips of every word mentioned
You look and you hunt through your longing
to discover if I am your true belonging
I know by the pause's in your words spoken
that you're trying to avoid another heart broken
I've been honest, dear Lovely, with every answer given
and as you slowly say my name I begin to give in
But these walls I create are for the protection
of a heart once fooled with misguided direction
Everything I do, I do for our future
so you know difficulty inherent with this suture
With caution I proceed, by no cause of yours
But from past loves I've learned there are no do-overs
I, with pounding heart, beg of thee, please understand
that on this earth we can walk hand in hand
But time heals all wounds, and these are freshly made
I can love and never leave, dear Lovely,
once the scars begin to fade.
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC
I crave your breath against my lips. Chills on my skin from your slightest touch. Anticipation on our date nights. Unexpected visits and sleep overs. Being silly with you. Until the day we meet my love. I have so much love to give, its literally bursting out of me. Random people wonders what I want from them... Just Spreading the Love, LOVE!
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:22 PM UTC
Riding the air
In dark morning
A steady current of rain
Descends
Upon everything
The fir tree
The house roof
My dogs fur
The empty Ash tree
The fallen leaves
Brown, red, yellow, orange
The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath
The puddles
The street
The cement
My head
My ears hear each
Multitude of patterned drops
In apparent chaos
Reminds me of the
The synapses in my brain
Circuitry, each drop a connection from
Dendrite to dentride
Messages of the unknown
Of falling to earth
Of vulnerable life
Unprotected.
The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed?
Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill.
Will today you find some without a home
Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen
To the same rain
While they shiver
And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to
Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses
And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in
The open now, soaking as I pen these words.
Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop.
Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 9:10 AM UTC
Her name is Chandney
In Punjabi it means the Moon
The thing about the moon is
It's not always appreciated
as much as it should be
The Sun steals all the glory
The Moon merely awaits its time
To come and reflect on the days
the Sun has left behind
The Moon picks up the pieces.
Chandney is my best friend
for a time she was my only friend
The only person I would call a friend
Not because I'd known her for so long
But because of all the things she'd done
Like coming to my door everyday
after school when I'd dropped out
and wasn't leaving the house,
tellin me about her day through the
intercom when she was young
and had the time to do that
The Moon kept me in touch
with the world of the Sun,
gave me a little bit of light left over
in the days when I saw none
And that's something that I will never forget
Like the first time I saw the moon cry
This moon is strong, this moon has pride
That hurt me inside
And every time since when I've seen
a sad face etched on your surface
I've cried with you, side by side
As you were Beside yourself
Day I realised that love comes
In many different forms
Cause I'd go above and beyond
anything I could ever do for myself
To reach out to you, lift you up
make you Smile, offer help
As long as I'm around
I want you to know
That the Moon is never truly alone
You have a sky full of stars
to keep you company
Consider the closest one to You as Me
We've shared some memorable nights
You and I
From first sleep overs
To gettin waved for the first time
Unlike so many The Moon
doesn't change with the tides
Loyal friend to this lunatic
The Moon changes the tides
When I was left alone
Crying night after night
The Moon watched over me
The Moon kept me company
Even in silence when
I didn't want to speak
The Moon was there
The constant silver lining
Reminding me that a new
day was gonna come
And I'd see the dark times through
Moon by my side goin through
the dark times too
We met as kids
And together we grew
I believe life for me is like
Those late night car journies
I'm Lucky, It's True
That No matter where you go
When you look out the window
The Moon is always with you
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
WHY
Why do I feel so angry as I stand behind an angry man waiting for a path to exist across a busy street.
Why do I feel such sorrow and pain as I sit next to a morning widow on the bus.
These emotions are not my own,
But oh how they consume my entire being.
A man with a receding hair line sayes I am one of few.
Empath.
At first I felt relief on the new discovery,
But then I realized what it meant my emotions,
My being was just bits and pieces of others.
I am a collage of the left overs of others.
I am a sad patchwork doll.
Why must I be so strange and grotesque.
My body and mind see no boundaries,
We see what's inside of everybody.
I am fake I am not myself,
but a bit of everyone.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
since before I was born I can remember time picking me up and carrying me along in its embrace it held me close never letting me down never stopping along the way sometimes speeding up sometimes slowing down freezing in slow motion moments it has never let me down running on through these presents here Passing here past time's arrow only moving in one direction no instant replays no do overs leaving traces of memories some false some recovered some discovered left with the traces of remorse and guilt in pain to tend along our way
time my sweetest friend and enemy
of endings I have always thought a lot these days these ways these happy unhappy joyful passing passing moments with you I held on tight to your impartial embrace knowing full well one day on the ground you will lay me down
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
We are the roaches of men
They treat me like the left overs..
burnt and small..
Roaches...
crawling from the cracks
of ghettos
waiting for extermination..
But we just multiply rapidly
hard shells of soft skin..
that bullets constantly find...
they call it enforcement..
We call it fear...
negrophobia...
they are afraid of our skin..
The power behind our beings..
They look at us as sin
We are the Roaches of men
unwanted house guest
feeling their
Entomophobia...
Creating more and more traps
for us to fall in..
Stomping our pride
with their steel boots...
Once upon a time
they could never **** our minds...
But they've found new forms of poisons
That have burnt us down
to smoking ourselves...
constantly...
as if is normal to see a young black mans
skin leaking smoke from the holes in his chest..
the smells of burning flesh..
that once swung from branches
in the southern sun.
Strange fruits to...Weeds... to roaches..
I bet they'll test
the theory of survival..
when they nuke us..
You 'know roaches don't say much...
they just create a lot of scatter..
but they create louder sounds together
and we can't even stand united
so our voices will never be heard..
just left in ash trays awaiting disposal..
as the stench or our smoking silence lingers in the air..
When will our dying embers once again catch flame
and burn away this despair..
we are stronger than memories
denser than air..
we are Power
Surviving long after the many times
we were suppose to be extinct....
Choices of Strength..
that we need to find again
We are the Roaches of Men...
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
kvinde-erfaring
sæbebobler og rygter og rygning og rytmer og lyserød
høje hæle og eksperimenter og sleep-overs
ensomhed og social sikkerhed
bikuber og hierarkier
de hårde piger
spejlets refleksion
medfødt afmagt
internaliseret skam, indvendigt skrig
skamfulde læber, skræmte
berørt - beskidt
et net af vildskab fanger dig bag læbestiften, sprækker i foundationen viser infernoet neden under
evigt brændende
glødende kerne, rank ryg
************ selvcensur, påpasselighed
indskrænket *** krydsede ben
fylder næsten ingenting
uskyldigheden på afveje
alle de selvsikre drenge puster sig op og larmer, reelt/figurativt
potentielt mirakuløst
kernefamiliens selvfølgelighed
skønhed og mistillid
jeg er meget mere end mit køn
jeg er 100% mit køn
det er intet skamfuldt over det kvindelige
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
You won't even empty a trash can?
I did. It is not even my turn
But the trash can is full again now
I don't see how this is my concern
When it overs it will be, as
trash piles up all around us
If you care so much do it yourself
I can't, this is a freshman job
~D.B. Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:15 AM UTC
Yeah,
I'll keep walking this tight rope.
But if I lose my balance and fall at the very hieght
of all my built up fears,
I pray someone will catch me.
Here's to free falling into the arms of love.
My standards exceed this world, I want to meet angels.
I never thought the winds of time would blow you away and leave me here
six blocks away
from where this endeavor all began.
I am the left overs of a life ended early.
My reflection is a ghost splashed with some life.
Awkward.
Love is free,
love is blind,
love will eat you up
and spit you out.
As soon as the next best thing comes a long.
Hell yeah, lets drink to that.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 4:08 AM UTC
I got down
And see the street lights
The cars passing by
Stuck in the headlight
I've seen bestfriends become lovers
We've eaten their left overs
What's left with us,
Is the piece of junk way back past.
I've watch lovers love
Like I did before
I've watched them fall apart
I've felt their beating heart
Baby there's no ticket to the past
There's nothing you can do
We didn't make it last
Just throw your love to the past
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
My entire childhood contained in a Disney princess gift bag
Torn and overflowing
A relic from one of my replacements
I don't know their names
Her do-overs
New children cancel out
Old mistakes
She sends me photos, report cards, awards
Proof that I existed
In a time before I crumbled
Before she trampled me
I wonder if she terrifies them
There is a Mother construct in my mind
Born of tender moments witnessed
Of hallmark cards
Imperfect but striving
Maybe she loves them
Some way she couldn't love me
A constant reminder of the man she threw away
A life that brings shame
Locking away the proof
The photos
The same place she kept her heart
We've both moved on, now
But I don't mourn her
The loveless ruthless mother
I mourn the construct I imagined
That I never knew her tenderness
Never heard those words
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
You know it's over.
Your shoes have walked away.
Your phone dives
into the pit of despair.
Cigarettes have become healthy.
Your knees don't knock, but clap.
The chipmunks have fallen silent.
All the chameleons are gray.
The cat dismisses you and leaves.
Bullets pass through you like prunes.
Love is a forgotten memory.
Everything transforms into other.
You are a stranger growing
stranger by the day.
Over and out good buddy.
You know it's over.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 6:07 AM UTC
*Wondering how at nearly 25
I'm feelin left out?*
This shelved life
got me in two minds
But I won't cry over split milk
It'll soon be dried
Up like the invites
I forgot to R.S.V.P
too busy tellin you
I'm just too busy
tryin to do me,
Right?
Just do right by me
tonight
And bring me back in.
Going off ain't a sin,
Yeah I may have gone off
but not by much.
Still here on the side,
Tried to stay in touch
Reaching distance,
So reach out
And pick me up
it's worthwhile
you've not had enough
What's gone today,
come tomorrow will fill your cup.
Left overs still the best
Just need some heating up,
A fresh season,
a little warmth and love
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
I wanted to write about
all of the emotions
that sit inside
my un beating chest
but perhaps I'll sit still
and ponder the demotion
of the feeling they have left
Because we don't always get
what we're asking for
and even if we are left
looking for more
We wander beside
a wordsmith
begging for his left overs
even though we don't know
exactly why we crave it
***I'll just ask this?
What are we writing for?***
See, because we like to fight
and the words don't
come out right
It leaves one of us
laying, on the floor
those upon the floor
see the cracks
we'd like to pour
our angst
into the ground
*We're the ones
that miss all the fun
whilst laying down*
So, hopefully you'll remember this
sitting on the bed,
even with your legs spread
I wasn't standing in between
your text message
to your next squeeze
I'm just going to be
mistakes you can't erase
so easily
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
Happy Halloween
Trick or treats at the front door,
give them candy, but they want more.
I put poison in their candy bar,
razors in their apple will leave a scar.
Tired of hearing, the ringing of my bell,
all these **** kids can go to hell.
Putting tacks in their Milky Way,
don't they know candy causes tooth decay.
Even with the lights off, they still knock,
I hate every kid on this **** block.
I give them lint from my dryer,
their stupid costumes, I light on fire.
I put pennies in their pillow case,
some kids so ugly, don't need masks on face.
I smile at their moms, standing on the sidewalk,
all the hot ones, I can't help but gawk.
When they say trick or treat,
I make them lick my smelly feet.
Putting pins in their Baby Ruth,
no longer will they have a sweet tooth.
Putting nails in their peanut butter Twix,
I have a big bag filled with rotten tricks.
I put Anthrax in their Snickers,
on the Kit Kat i cover with chiggers.
Three Musketeers are filled with staples,
Butterfingers have splinters from wooden tables.
Naughty kids get a bag of my ****
from the toilet, that I often sit.
Maybe next year they will learn,
or I'll give them ashes from their parents urn.
Sometimes I scare them and make them beg,
their so scared, you can see *** running down their leg.
I've even given left overs from the fridge,
all the maggots make their bodies twitch.
Next Halloween, if I'm not in jail,
I will urinate in every candy pail.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
All the efforts to be near
by being far away,
like the shoelaces we
pull apart
to tie together.
Like the ***** white shoelaces
on your worn out night sneakers,
And to be together would be a tangle of us,
a knot of seemingly simple twists and ties,
but naturally young children,
the young children we are,
must learn to do.
A series of overs and unders,
that we forget
when we ripen.
Yet to untie us would be easy,
one pull and we'd fall lifeless,
next to the black skin of your sneakers,
knowing that we'd be brought back together again,
until you wear out of us,
and replace us with the new leather and fancy threads.
But we'll always be there,
at the bottom of your closet,
wishing to go through the loops once more,
just to be tied together again.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
I watched a movie the other night and a scene reminded me of you ;
There was a lonely sailor on a fluke
That had a lantern on its far end.
The fluke was delving into a heavy night.
The mist veiled the sailor
Till he looked pious enough
To have the faith to fight the sea.
It reminded me of you,
Because when I observed you fading away
It was like observing parts of me
Sailing the same fluke I saw,
Leaving a fiery trail behind
So when I go back in memory
I could remember that those parts were once there.
They were parts of me,
Before the touch of his hand-
Caressing the bumps on your neck
Suffocated,
Till all you can breathe
Filled only the volume of his grip.
Before your glances became stares-
The myth says,
If you look medusa in the eyes
You will turn into stone
And so you did.
I watched him killing you
Slowly,
Dying,
Blacking out…
I extracted pieces of you from my veins;
It took me a while
To clean them
From tight corners in my vertebrate,
But you were doing the same;
You pegged two hooks
Onto your heart,
Attached to a rope that he pulled hard
Only to make sure
That every piece of me vanquishes.
But in the process you lost yourself
And so did I.
Every time I look at you
I try to scan for left overs of my past-
Instead I find his finger prints.
And every time I hear your voice
I think about the songs
That we never sang
But it would’ve been awesome if we did.
I met a sailor the other day
He was and old frail version of me
With tired eyes
That grew land marks on the way,
With a wrinkled face
Like dry land with no signs of water;
On his chest I saw two scars
That bend like a tiger’s claw
And curves like 2 poorly implanted hooks.
I asked him where have you been.
He answered,
“a true sailor always finds his way back home”
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC