"perry" poems
To know just where your're going
You must know where you've been
You must respect the history
The things others have seen
It's true in all things relative
Be it music, sports or life
If you don't know where you came from
You're just dancing on a knife
Gherig, Ruth and Robinson
May, and Mantle, Seaver too
Respect their contributions
And don't just say Ruth who?
Respect where things have come from
And the players of the past
Because you learn and make things better
It's what makes the **** game last
Jimmy Foxx, Bob Gibson, Kaline
Nestor Chylak and The Goose
They made baseball special
They gave the game a little juice
Orr, Richard and Gretzky
Gordie Howe and Howie Morenz
You have to know about them
You need the beginning to your ends
Bob Baun and Bill Barilko
Connie Smythe and yeah...the Chief
You have to know their history
They're what it is to be a Leaf
The game has changed immensely
Things can not go back in time
But to me...the old alumni
Made the game I know as mine
Respect the ones before you
The ones who laid the groundwork down
The ones who made it special
The non-pretenders to the crown
Elvis, Buddy, Harrison
Played the songs inside their heart
Lennon, Wilson and the rest
They all played a real big part
Every single generation
should learn from the one before
For if they don't know where they've come from
Then what has it all been for?
Nicklaus, Palmer, Bobby Jones
Sarazen and Hogan too
They pushed the gameright to it's limits
Now the pressure's upon you
The new breed are the teachers now
They're the ones to lead the way
When twenty or so years from now
You'll hear somebody say
"Respect who came before you
The ones who made us so **** proud
LIke Nash and , Perry and Taylor Hall
They played the game so loud
Pudge, Jeter, and Verlander
they brought it up a notch
They were there to stretch the limits
Not to just sit by and watch
Rory, Justin Rose and Mahan
Bubba, Dustin and the rest
They are the players of the future
They all respected the games best
So, to know where you are going
You must know where you have been
Respect, past through the future
And all that's happened in between.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
horns squawk
rainforest avenues
exoskeleton
of cars
arteries clogged
with unlovely taxi cabs
fat green fruit
for sale
five languages
merge into a knot
hisses kiss vowels
kiwis apples pears
black guys basketball
debt rises like blood pressure
stocks tumble
but we walk
brogues clop on concrete
count brick after brick
sun cascades
over roof slates
mind cracks in slabs
(you say
Monroe stood here)
heat quivers
men are dominoes
suits for the office
a funeral
designer sneakers
daddy paid for
pigtails cheap thrills
violet octagons
on a stranger’s neck
(behind the closed doors)
today
I drink purple water
aubergine lips
remind me
of a Tuscany Superb
list the names
Houston Charlton
Leroy Sullivan
Perry Cornelia
Dominick and Jane
(ladders lead
away from me
close to
you)
and back again
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
to live a life so brief as this
and beg for less
is to acknowledge
that life must be beautiful
or else death take its place
rendering the body immaterial
the soul inconsequential
only the circumstances remaining
to form a memory
of our brow-beaten brothers
who felt for so long and hard
that their passionate resistance
of oppression
became nothing
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Davis Cup to Andy Murray,
Oh my God that man can scurry, in a flurry.
Sports Personality on the BBC,
Andy’s the pride of Team GB.
Andy Murray,
Replaced Fred Perry, the past to bury.
(Yet praise he does not curry).
First Wimbledon, then Davis Cup.
Team GB is on the Up.
Paul Butters
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
So, up to Liverpool,
pretty cool,
I've got family there, and I'm trying to find my bearings.
When I was a kid I went with my Auntie to the Adelphi Hotel,
I remember it well,
so that's where I'll start, move my feet,
it's a quick walk to Bold Street.
Everyone flocks to the Albert Docks,
regenerated, updated, and has created a vibrant corner of a once-thriving port city,
which is pleasing,
the only downside is it's ****** freezing!
The nights out are decent too,
this where Liverpool really pulls through.
Matthews Street, can't be beat,
or Concert Square,
where, you head to Baa Bar for some shots and a few jars.
Then onto Nation with the rest of Liverpool's student population,
going down to Wolstenholme Square,
great memories, shame it's no longer there.
Capital of Culture, lots to explore,
the council wants to restore the city centre,
Liverpool One is second to none.
New shops to buy our Fred Perry tops,
new bars to entertain us,
new places to wear our smart Adidas trainers.
A modern shopping centre to walk through,
have they really called it Everton Two?
Girls off to the supermarket with their hair up in rollers and wearing their PJ's,
funny looks on the face of people who are new to the place.
Lads in black Lacoste trackies,
in the 1980s they came back from the continent after European success,
wearing Fila and Ellesse,
it was called casual,
the style went national.
A city of myths legends,
some more tongue in cheek but still unique.
A sock robber from Kirkby,
is it the original Cavern Club? Well, to a degree.
What about Carragher's tattoo?
He's blue born and bred,
is Paul McCartney actually dead?
I know it's a clichè, but I must say,
it isn't a mere rumour,
there is undoubtedly a Scouse sense of humour,
wordplay and the inflexion on the things they say.
A witty city that's for sure, come and visit,
you'll have everything you need and more.
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 12:45 PM UTC
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
I thought the ***** would make me stop feeling it
But instead I just felt it more intensely.
I kissed a girl and I liked it
Not like that Katy Perry song describes.
I am not some **** straight girl with a boyfriend
Who is trying to impress other dudes at a washed up bar.
I just don't get it
Maybe I never will
How I can be some Christian child of God
And feel this simultaneously?
I will never understand
How some will continue to harp on the idea
That this whole spectrum is a plea for attention
And does not exist.
What the hell are they talking about?
Do they think I like walking around every day
With a stigma attached to my chest
Even though most people do not even know the truth?
Do they think I enjoy
Lying to my parents, day in and day out
Saying I am this pure, straight Presbyterian teen
Who's secrets are all out in the open?
There is a ton they do not know
This is just the tip of the iceberg.
Do they believe that I find pleasure in
Hiding a huge part of who I am
From my school, my church and my community?
They cannot judge me
That is God's job.
These are just a few of my classic gripes
About being a closeted bisexual
In a conservative family.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:32 PM 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
I buried my father:
In the St. Augustine Cemetery
I visit at the old gravesite of the deceased annually
I saw the quiet grave keeper still standing there looking dazed and confused
By the looks of things:
My father resting place
still soaks up all the tears
My mother and other siblings said to me
That to visit any one grave site wasn’t their kind of thing
I buried my father underground: It have been so long
Since then, the birds would come to the house of my father
Looking for breadcrumbs from days old bread
The dead will not be forgotten, his name will lives on
When I was a toddler, he fed me white rice with butter
Sprinkled with black pepper and grated cheese:
With my weak voice I was say “thank you: he was so please
I buried my father in the St. Augustine cemetery
It’s one of the saddest places to visit,
Unlike seasonal passes tickets
So adjacent, those graves: so annoying those wild crickets
He might be far away from his home,
but not from our hearts
Everything on his grave seem so square and flat,
But the most outstanding piece was the letters that read
R.I.P: what I saw was (Rescue Innocent Perry)
Sometimes, I wondered about the dead
About their done deals: their final feast
I buried my father there, but not his memories
I saw the old mahogany tree still standing tall
the pieces of kindling wood, he made for grilling,
I will always remember him, and I know he might be
Thinking of me, his poetic daughter especially on that day
when I accompany him to cut the branches from the
old Mahogany tree, just to make backyard wood fire
For the family breakfast, lunch and supper
I buried my father: the naïve share cropper:
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
We will leave you in the midst
of a poetic truce, as you spill
experiences into our open palms.
Writing to make sense of what
has happened, nestling your
deepest secrets in our fingertips.
Our roots so deep in our poetry,
if you tried to unearth us, we would
shriek louder than banshee's.
Unravel our words, enter the
labyrinth of our minds, there are
sunsets in our stomachs, and
December runs through our veins.
We are the stars to your blank skies,
the pause between each ragged breath,
the tragedy suffocating the air.
We are the pause before the applause,
we are rarity's like Haley's comet,
making you scramble for a telescope.
Only crows writhing with broken
necks are more twisted than the life
stories resting under our tongues.
We are poets, engraved in history,
fluent in all that is artistic and worldly.
Poetry is a warm blanket we remain
hidden in on a cold winter morning.
Reality is a cold floor that our
bare feet are too scared to touch.
By Rapunzel and JannaLee Perry
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
I'm periwinkle,
Peri, perry wrinkle.
Perry the platypus in a time wrinkle.
A blue growling platypus in a time-space wrinkle.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 4:02 PM UTC
In my office me and Gonzo waited speaking on deep issues
with no true meaning as usual.
Bastardo's heart had been broken for Drew had left him a beaten and
love bitten luchador slash attorney.
Senior Gonzo speaking endlessly to the hat rack had reminded me why
I never dropped acid anymore.
Poor gonzo had just been served with divorce papers to which
his only response was ****** amigo i never knew i was married.
As his attorney i belived a trip to mexico was outta the question for i had just got back do to some well a misunderstanding its legal
jargin you couldnt possibly understand.
His deadline was near and without my solid advise this man wouldnt be able to pull it off so being we had been in the bar for more than
eight hours we decided to make a exit through the mens room window.
Front doors are over rated.
In my legal office slash camper hey eveyone starts somewhere
okay.
I was reminded of my loved hellcat Drew
she had left many items here a satanic bible her boil cream.
how I did mis rubbing her webbed toes.
How was i to work Gonzo was a mess hidding under the table
so the ginger bread people couldnt find him
and return him to there bitter talentless leader
Kate Perry i swear if you stab me one more time senior gonzo
with that fork in my maracas im going to get medevile on your ***
Oh how i missed my tag team partner drew.
i should never have introduced her el man donkey who
resist such a uhh personallity.
But now here I sit with a madman under my table tripping his
***** off insisting I contact Simon Cowell to inform him
man tities are so yesterday.
If only I had gotten the Lindsy Lohan case I would finally have gotten my brake or maybe just a std.
Oh well theres always hope Mel Gibson will need me.
The road warrior was a true classico and he seemed so well
balanced compared to my reallity challenged cilent.
Remember kids if ever you have a chance to trip with senior Gonzo
its probaly best you hide all sharp objects.
adios Bastardo
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
Best Week Ever
Just had my best week of all time,
I'm 42 but still in my prime.
Spent some time with Brittany Spears,
I left her begging and in tears.
After a night with Beyonce,
she wanted me to be her fiance.
Just one night with Pink,
now she can't even blink.
Had a date with Katy Perry,
she asked me to pop her cherry.
Spent some time with J-Lo,
she was more sloppy than a joe.
Rihanna likes to play rough,
**** she looks good in the buff.
Me and Fergie ate some black eyed peas,
then we were joined by Alicia keys.
Had a blast with Taylor Swift,
we did it on a ski lift.
Avril Lavinge wanted it never to end,
now she wants to be her boyfriend.
I turned Miley Cyrus back into Hannah Montana,
its a secret what we did with a banana.
Me and Kesha sang her hit Tik Tok,
then she ****** on my clock.
Selena Gomez is a witch no more,
I turned her into my little *****
Carrie Underwood won't slash my tires,
the heat between us started some fires.
Gwen Stefani left the singer from Bush,
she loved the way I smacked her ****
Lady Ga Ga showed me her poker face,
with her I reached every base.
Me and Lita Ford kissed each other deadly,
then she sang me a **** medley.
Madonna said I was her best,
we spent no time dressed.
I was man enough for Sheryl Crow,
let me tell you, she can really blow.
As the week ended, I had Shakira moving her hips,
then I woke up and it was an **** with Gladys Night and her Pips.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
Clicking their way forward and back,
Flip-flopping into or hearts
If a girl can con money
Out of their fathers’ pockets,
who’s to say
They can’t sway politicians?
Their lips kiss pictures.
Pictures of cannabis leaves, yellow and smiling
They live until they die,
don’t live until they’re married
And if they don’t find what they want,
what else do they need
besides a crowd of fellow millennials
Caring, caring?
Caring about cannabis’ rights
and the right to carry a GBF,
their money, their frame
and, above all, pepper spray
These girls are the new
honest, hard-working man,
Their sweet scent is coming.
Sweet pea and Moonlight Path.
the top-selling fragrances at
Bath and Body Works
Their battle-cry is only
as loud as their looks
Daisy dukes and Katy Perry
whispering, “What the hell is she wearing?
She dons thin, rose-gold underwear
and she’s lazy yet keyed-up
in her own skin
Her lovers are all the same
but she blames all men.
Her wings are Pink,
they protect her from catcalls.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
Often, when I'm on the
streets, decaying in *****
degradation of the soul,
I go under the bridge and watch
the ducks.
Sometimes I talk to them.
They don't talk back.
Some days, it's the only
beauty I can see.
I think and dream of
a different world.
A land without
brutal lunacy.
I can handle madness.
It's the wicked,
smiling hatred that I
can do without.
The Iowa River beckons
me to come swim-
float blissfully to heaven.
But I know better.
Katie and Perry drowned not
far from where I sat.
It's usually at this time that
I'm fresh out of bread for
the ducks and I have milked the *****
bottle for all it's worth, that a
warm blanket of a thought comes to
me- I need help- go to the hospital.
I stumble my way there,
sometimes by ambulance.
I go through nightmarish withdrawals.
At around the third day, I get a
laptop from the patient library.
I catch up with neglected family
and friends, then I try to write.
The first four days, my mind is
like a smashed snail.
But usually, the magic comes back.
The muse kisses me gently, and I
put the shaking pen to the paper.
I can order whatever food I
want between 6 am and 8 pm.
I discovered years ago that they
have phenomenal cheesecake.
So when I'm able to eat, it's the
first thing I order.
My withdrawals are deadly.
Diastolic blood pressure
numbers like 103,109.113.
So they give me Ativan.
It helps tremendously- Ativan and cheesecake.
**** the muse's **** then more
Ativan and cheesecake.
If I'm lucky, I'll turn out a
poem or two-like this one right now.
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 10:58 PM 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
Folksy blokes, like ya struttin’ ya thang
If you’ve come out of da Grand Ole Opry
But, won’t stay around for any old music sang
If it’s causing their head, to bob up and down and go all floppy
While rugged mountain men riding in some country rodeo
Can just step right up, to a Appalachia recording studio
Put down several tracks and become a worldwide pop star
They sing about hillbilly ways, while cogging or flatfooting from afar
Talking ‘bout wild hogs, gators, foxes & how so many more
Taste so great, using leftovers as bait & making real men roar
Old fables, told through pictures and patterns, upon knitted quilt
Even showing the feuding days of the Hatfields versus McCoys
From both sides of Tug Fork stream, with many unemployed
Although Asa and Devil Anse, said, ‘they hadn’t much guilt’
All because of a judge and 5000 acres of unusable swamp land
Once owned, by a close kissin’ cousin named, Perry Cline
Who didn’t even get any blood on his hand
They started a war, that could’ve been stopped
By a bottle or two, of good ole mountain moon-shine
Both clans almost wiped out, if last man standing had accidentally dropped.
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC
The chorus of Katy Perry's song "unconditionally" is written in the future tense. "I will love you unconditionally." This implies that current circumstances preclude love. In other words, her love is subject to conditions.
She goes on to suggest "open up your heart and let it begin."
In other words, her love will become available if and when the subject decides to receive and/or reciprocate it. This sounds like the opposite of unconditional love.
She also repeats many times "there is no fear now." Irregardless of whether she is referring to herself or the subject of her affection, it sounds like there is in fact a lot of fear insecurity and reluctance on both sides. Perhaps this was supposed to highlight the wishful thinking of a person in this situation. Perhaps this whole song is a sardonic analysis of unhealthy, obsessive, unrequited love and how difficult it is to be objective under these conditions. Or maybe Katy Perry doesn't care that her young female fan base will listen to this song and see nothing unreasonable about it. Or maybe it's like the movie Shrek where it's fun for the kids but also has some elements that only adults will understand. Maybe Katy Perry is a gifted lyricist allowing millions of people with different amounts of life experience to listen to her songs and all hear a different message. Maybe the apparent banality of her music actually allows it to function as a sort of mental mirror, forcing people to confront their inner most thoughts. Maybe that's why her music is so popular, because everyone hears it as a harmonious duet between Katy Perry and themselves. Maybe Katy Perry is like a cool kid that's introducing us to ourselves, telling us that we're cool too. Maybe, all of her listeners, whether fans or not, have been enriched by her music.
Or maybe it's just ****** pop that has been marketed very effectively.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
Night time; the foxes dance in the pale moonlight,
with their beautiful black eyes shining bright.
The wolves howl towards the night sky,
singing a sublime song through each and every cry.
Owls hidden in the swaying forest trees,
watching out for their prey, solemn and at ease.
This is the wild and it's a beautiful place,
one that humans should learn to embrace.
- cowritten with Maddison Perry (9 years old)
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
.you want to relearn the schoolyard? are you sure you want to relearn the schoolyard?! sure... we can relearn the schoolyard... i have a theory though, and it goes along the lines of... you know those pedophile(s)? i have a theory... they're not exactly into smoking, or drinking... like... their female counterpart... i actually think women are afraid of young boys... for what young boys are, per se... well, given Muhammad, hyper-inflated interest in literacy... that covers the whole: illiterate prior, married to an older woman, not drinking, not smoking?! so what's your outlet?! to be an object of what... "subjects"... or to be a "subject" of what... objectifies... case in point, the nuance is interchangeable in the metaphor quadratic of wording... and no... not really... i find it hardly necessary to concern myself with making the sort if accuracy to give a metric unit basis of a centi-, or otherwise, etc.
it's sheryl crow
for fuck's sake...
it's not
katty perry...
that debut:
was... pristine..
seminal...
sure... my feet stink...
what? what's wrong
with Cheryl Crow?!
you better be *******
with me for serious,
otherwise
i switch to: unhinged...
a change?
***** won a ******* grammy!
sure... she married
a glorious child of
the two pedals...
who faked Paris having faked
a tourism ploy of France...
it's still Sheryl Crow though!
a trucker's daydream
of perfect head,
incubated by a mouth
of an 18 year old boy...
no... i like Alanis...
when... whatever that was that came
from a woman's mouth was...
deemed, fun...
now?
n'ah... not really.
all i really want... that sort of **** was
fun...
now? i'm becoming more and more
bemused by the fragrance of my
socks, worn, second day to count
thoroughly...
hand in my pocket...
right through you...
so... BIG daddy gonna come around
to save this teenage girl's cherry ***
the kind of daddy that could never
have a beer with me?
like i'm feeling that:
while using my right hands when typing
feels like i'm using my left hand,
and vice versa?!
no! i'm not having it!
Cheryl Crow... &...
Chrissie Hynde!
no... don't give me the *******
zig-zag argument suggesting
i'm about to see something
"better", via an X, cross-eyed...
blurry, like some reverse Freudian
fetish off Ariel, the mermaid,
blurry, under the water...
Disney princesses my ***
head over feet...
now... that's a song.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
WORTH THE WAIT
there are many things
a man needs, not the least of which
is the love of a good woman
so i have had plenty of time
in order to truly make you mine
over the years since we worked out the details
to give our relationship time, you were worth the wait
we let our personalities meld, in the pursuit of love
we took on the years that have come and gone, it now
leaves us full and without remorse
this love of ours has taken on life
one smile, one tear at a time, so i don't
make this confession lightly when i say
my life would not have been worth living
if there were no you- there would have been no me
by Michael Perry
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 4:11 PM UTC
The mind is a perry place to go to and you should go to the place of the mind
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC
left my body electric after a dream of fire
Pepsi-Cola eyes were all I had
demons ate my classmates alive, alive
there were no screams only the sounds of fire
but I awake and they are unscathed
the teacher hands me a book
a single Koi fish drawn on blue-scented paper
she knows how much I love the fish fry
I will now always miss
it burns with the rest somewhere
A delinquent brought his iPad
and in a moment's glitch
they all go out listening to Katy Perry's Firework
rewind and you see them trying to escape through smoke-soaked hallways
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
What happened to our artists?
When did our beauty become surgically enhanced?
Goodbye Mr Hedberg, Hello Mr Macintyre.
Goodbye Ms Whinehouse, Hello Miss Perry.
Goodbye Mr Byron, Hello Ms Kardashian.
Goodbye Mr Mercury, Hello Mr Braun.
Goodbye Mr Wilde, Hello Mr Sheen.
Those smiling faces that tell us "everythings Okay!"
A farewell to the beauty of self destruction
Goodbye Art. Hello Art.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC