"pictionary" poems
Playing pretend **********
is
perfectly peachy-keen.
Don't be mean
and play em'
faster than a round of
pictionary.
Don't act cheap
and put out
at the lowest prices.
You're worth more money than that.
You can't rush magic,
but if you wanna set yourself
up in a
trap.
You can always
go
hook up with.
The
Strangers Of Today.
But you might end up
in bed with
the biggest mistake
of your life.
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 8:28 PM UTC
A first kiss is a deadly weapon
ours was nervous and in secret
a large dog making me sneeze
jumping over the SUV
because your stepdad can't park
and clinging to you
because he also can't drive
When you met my parents
on New Years, pictionary
we both yelled "anarchy"
and I will never not smile about that
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
I've booked my ticket like a Spring Break trip.
Cancun or Mazatlan, but this trip will be permanent -
An exciting prospect of new adventure,
Regret at what's to be left behind.
The date is circled upon the calendar
And does it ever race to hand.
My last grand adventure to plan,
To take part of before I hit the end.
There will be no more and
What once was will be lost.
I hear the sun shines there
But not in the traditional sense.
Say goodbye to the girls -
Tell them I love them -
And don't forget to pass word on to my brother.
Its sad I didn't get to see him again before I climbed aboard.
Worse things have happened and
I'll see him when he decides to visit.
No worries once he takes up permanent residence -
Sorry to ruin the great secret.
So, let's make the wheels turn
With the time that's left on the clock.
The sand in the hour glass is running short.
We've got time for one last game of Pictionary before I depart.
Let's act it up and act it out.
Let our actions resonate in screams and shouts.
So ket's do the best not to waste our time
As those last grains drop by and by.
Our actions speak as words,
And when all clocks finally stop,
Its towards the horizon that I will look,
Thinking of tomorrow as I board that box.
Just know that I will miss you so well.
Mom and Dad, even though I put you through hell,
All I wish is for you to be whole,
And even though I am off on my own,
Know that I leave behind my soul
So I will still be here even after I'm gone.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 1:59 AM UTC
You said you wanted to play a round of Sorry,
but that you didn't know the game,
instead you used Pictionary to draw for me,
but every scribbled messaged looked the same.
You said you related to Snakes and Ladders,
I guess because you like to go up and down.
You hope that I fall off and my leg shatters,
and the snakes eat me on the ground.
So go on and roll the dice, pretend to take a chance,
so go on and play nice, I know you've mastered that dance.
We don't need anyone else to play,
the two of us can share the blame.
So what do you say? Let's play another board game.
You suggested next Monopoly, your greed would help you win,
I think you just wanted to beat me, then wanted to rub it in.
I asked if you liked Risk, though strategy was never my strength,
your "no" came out very brisk, you never liked games of length.
You said you would love a round of Battleship,
I guess so you could shoot and bring me down,
watching me sink within my crypt,
right until I reached the ground.
So go on and roll the dice, pretend to take a chance,
we can play the same one twice, you'll keep your winning stance.
We can do it all your way, rules can keep things too tame,
so what do you say? Let's play another board game.
As a child your favourite game was Trouble,
but not because you're a living cliche,
you claim you liked to pop the bubble,
hoping each time it would break away.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
*I watch your face
as you write
in the furrows of the brow,
see you and the
word-seeds being seized,
harvested,
prepared, ready-roasted
for sumptuous consumption
grimace and smile,
alternating currents,
grimace and smile,
ponderous pondering
chew each word,
flavor extracting,
does its taste fit,
is it only,
but,
perfect?
you get up, you sit,
you move about,
pretending, misleading,
purposed to be aimless
yet eyes squinting
betray
a fearsome full
concentration rapture,
a mind computing
the numerical quality of
words,
summing, subtracting,
solving for X
you employ technique,
formats, tools and aids,
thesaurus, dinosaurus, dictionary,
even pictionary
when
the guppy letters
swim spring river current fast,
little boy catch me fast run past,
cannot be caught and easy captured
why
do I watch
your face
as you write?
for there visaged,
is your truest work,*
you, your best poem
*what words you select
matters little to me,
t'is the struggles,
the blush of satisfactory,
the distempered white of
disillusionment,
of inspiration sought
but not found
all these dancers,
you choreograph
a word-ballet in three acts,
scheme a midsummer nights dream
upon the stage of your face
return the favor poet?
watch mine,
watch my face,
as I read your poem
and see thine own best
reflection
in teary eyes caught inside crows-feet,
pencil thin smile lines of fine wine whimsy,
in feet that airlift,
the contour of
who you are
and
think*
**You, Poet,
you are your best poem**
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
Oh that your hips lock to the crevice of my interchanging mute fragility
that I may become a part of your absoloute screaming
inclining infidelity
that I may wrap my cotton black sleeves around your wrists
and have you hum some old lullaby that your mother
use to sing to you when you were a child
mourning down at the pastel lake
where the waters scream its wonders and secrets
that hold something in the deeper side of you
I'm casting the debut of our lives on a pictionary mind
where thoughts interlude and transgress
every now and then and I am eluded by your watchful glare
into the raindrops that fall into my naturally black hair
I am subtle and hollow in your speech
calm and protective
on defending my own means
of living
oh there you are and I am blinded
all along
invisible with the cloack that I saw
hanging on the sides of your face
imaginary- beautiful , envision no pain
nor disgrace
wrapped in sheets of warm weather
and cool breeze
needless and the most needed
uneeded needs
my cheeks are red sunkissed by the shine
of everything surrounding me
completely bewildered knowing this is mine
bare I hold out all my caged animals
to seek your truth
hidden under gardens of possibility and crime
my mind
I see
is on the edge of extingtion
when drowning in all the different skin
I wake up early on sundays
from the sleep of dead
and open my chest to take and impignorate to all the precious
flowers that I will keep my eye on them
while I master the language
and you master the art of gaze
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 8:43 AM UTC
I remember the times we had
the love between us
a dad and his son
fooling around and having fun
the football games in the hall
the family holidays
the time we got stuck in the snow
family holidays in Scarborough
playing football with the club
playing football in the hall
with a spongy ball
a bust old door for a goal
Christmas’s at my aunties
playing Pictionary
the parents were really competitive
them times have passed now
and I know it will never be the same
dads died and I can’t change that
but every hour of everyday adds a
memory to the times we had.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
Would I love a nook and a book?
My fantasy world, imaginary,
To me, every book is worth a look,
Even an old dictionary.
Would I love a nook and a book?
Meet some new friends for free,
I could sit and read in my cosy nook,
any book, like Pictionary.
Would I like a nook and a book?
Yes, for these would trade the Earth,
Reading books, in a nook, no sooks,
Yes, nooks and books are what it's worth.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
There is transparency in my soul.
A lesser half to my better whole.
A feeling to be absolute, uncompromised by the truth.
You can't take part of me away, what you see is what will stay.
Wear my thoughts on my chest. My heart does not lie in my breast.
A final sanctuary, while In the dark I'm playing pictionary.
Trying to figure this out.
Where i may find myself trying, isn't where I lay dyeing.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
Carbon slides furiously over pad
Mad as a Hatter only angrier
Scribbling circles and stabbing the paper
It's so obvious, ******* it!
It's right there in front of you!
Look! Can't you see?
You gesticulate wildly
Silently cursing and trying to send the answer psychicly
Pictionary that ******* game
By any other name would not be any less infuriating
And yet we play it every day
When I say "I think..."
And she says "I feel..."
And we wheel around in circles
To get our point past our own noses
Guessing what the other's prose is
Until we think we know and then...
That's irrational!
This doesn't feel right...
So where do you go
When your words makes sense
But your concepts are lost in translation
When your language fails to convey meaning?
There's an old saying I heard somewhere
If a lion could speak English we would not understand it
Without being underhanded you have to hand it to them
Those old timey folks knew a thing or two
About me and you and the breakdowns in syntax
That afflict us on these occasions
Maybe the only answer is to sit with it
Will you think on it
While I come to terms with how it feels?
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
she pens a thank you note, for my stealing inspiration from her observation,
to create a “beautiful bundle of words”
my vocabulary acquired by just hanging around this planet of aged years,
(hirsute, multifarious, repacked packets of globbed and gloated pins and notions),
is minimally useful in the arced architecture of reassembling a new combination
that pretends to be a beautiful bundle of words, a nouveau riches,
a poem rearrangement is only addition but that a new poem, does not make
to make a creation, one requires
a beautiful bungle of words,
each tripping upon the next, somehow discordantly harmonious,
a humorous pin ***** sordid that moves the lips into an O shape light emitting,
“why in the hell did not I think of that”
if it makes sensible than it’s likely just recombinant, i.e. a used car
if it makes sensitive as if it’s a new cry, unheralded unheard and
the first newborn among its peerage
bungle your pictionary mistakable notions from fumes of intoxication
stumble into a new theorem predicting the relativity of the impossible,
combine cross pollinations, fish and fowl, meat and milk, stench and best,
faucet drips of hurricane magnitude, draw insights from inside a child’s vision,
and say to yourself repeatedly,
this is how I bungle breathing into new poems,
this is how I birth beautiful
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 3:20 PM UTC
I imagine a world
where i go to my cousin’s wedding
And we all play pictionary
As the sun sets on the farmland
I imagine a world
Where facebook isnt a meeting place
And the photos are meaningless
Because the people are there
I imagine a world
Where the home videos arent a substitute
For the memories of a child
And the family that they love
I imagine a world
Where my aunt doesnt cry
When we leave her house
Because she knows we’ll be back soon
I imagine a world
Where hugs arent so tight
That your breath is stolen
Because youre afraid to let go
I imagine a world
Where relationships have permanence
But i know that wont happen
So my imagination is there
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 1:31 AM UTC
words… I was never good with words
But I came to understand one thing about them…
We let them define us…
We let them become what we believe
that then becomes what others see.
And we decide that we want to change ourselves
Well Im telling you to put those words on the lowest shelf
Make them less of a priority than you
until they’ve been in your shoes
Then again they never will and never can
Because no one fully will understand
So take those words in the palm of your hand
and let them slip away
Let yourself create what words mean to you
and let the good ones stick like glue
While letting the others go
Make the words your own
Make it hurt less than the ones hard as stone
Who says you have to go by the dictionary
This isn’t a game of complicated Pictionary
It may be hard to be accepted
but accepting yourself is the first stage in avoiding rejection
These words don’t make you who you are
These words unless you change them will just leave unnecessary scars
and I know...
It might sound like the craziest thing you’ve ever heard
but words don’t define you… you define words
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 8:44 AM UTC