"pirated" poems
Peter Pan said Wendy -
There's something I want to tell you.
I am neither straight nor bent
But what you might call bendy
Captain Hook stopped reading his e-book and eavesdropped more intently.
Peter knew what his flexible friend meant and spoke to her quite innocently.
Wendy - I am as vanilla as Manilla envelopes in a creamery with whitewashed walls
And identical twin albino Godzillas fighting snow leopards with cue *****
No gimp suit in fifty shades of grey for me.
I am pretty much hormone-free,
More than happy with asexuality,
Playing pirated computer games on one hand
And others' loves that dare not speak their names which fewer understand.
In my world of dreamery certain flights of fancy pass me by.
I love to fly and you Wendy.
And I love you too Peter - Not Everygirl's Ideal of A Real Man.
But I can understand the attraction of Lost Boys and their toys in Neverland.
We've known each other for all these years,
Shared too many troubles, thoughts and fears
To be anything other than in each other's hearts.
If I never visit Neverland again
I know you will always be my closest friend,
What, where, whenever happens
To the bittersweet end.
May we both be dying for an Excellent Adventure,
If not together then separately.
There is nothing better than to know
That you will always be there for me
No matter how we might grow
Into this 21st century.
And one day I may straighten out
But
That's
Not
What
Life's
About.
Captain Hook put down his e-book and Facebooked a friend...............
And that is where our story will end.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
torn jeans
dimples
station wagons
shifting eyebrows
eager hands
wry smiles
chapped lips
cheap beer
deep-set eyes
pirated music
hates his birthday
stoplight-kisses
star-gazing in cornfields
****** knuckles
broken minds
lanky limbs
poetry books
scruffy faces
jet-black coffee
calloused hands that still feel soft
adventurer's heart
jumping fences
midnight tokes
always gives you hickeys
always opens your door
worn sneakers
chewed pen caps
late for work
old windbreakers
dirt under his fingernails
omniscient smirks
expensive cologne
good intentions -
but is bad with goodbyes
hates himself for making you cry
broken cigarettes
aviator shades at night
a perpetually furrowed brow
and a laugh that sounds like autumn leaves as they crunch beneath your feet
m.f.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
Dust motes and sweat stains
Faded graffiti over rusted steel plates
Advertising everything, from politicians to a massage parlor,
The engine roars disgruntled, in smoky rancor.
I stepped on your feet, said I was sorry
Tell me mister, could you tell I was lying?
Pushing through the rush-hour crowd
I finally found my footing and was proud.
Well, there’s something to be said for low expectations
A word of praise for cranky co-passengers.
Not that the polite ones aren’t fun,
When they smile and roll their eyes like they’re so done.
And it’s not that I’d ever expect sincerity,
At 10 on a rainy Tuesday morning
I’m not a nihilist, or even much of a cynic by default
But at 10am, I take nice with a bucket of salt.
I put on my headphones, crank the volume up to max,
Sway to the shrill screeching of pirated tracks
I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t really tell.
It’s not you’re uninteresting, it’s just that this song is swell.
And maybe I could’ve made more of an effort
Gotten to know your name, exchanged toffees and emotional support
Maybe you’d have told me your story, if my ears were free
Maybe we could’ve found something worth a keep.
But you see, mister, it’s not you it’s me
At 10 on a Tuesday morning, I’m not the best company.
I hope, tomorrow, you’ll find a co-passenger worth your time,
As for me, facelessness suits me just fine.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
I know I’m a cancer,
I know I’m a disease,
no matter how hard I try I always lose,
was I born to fail,
am I made to suffer,
I’m nothing but a phase,
you’ll find someone better,
you’ll get tired and you’ll leave me,
I’ll be thrown away,
I’ll be used and forgotten,
be happy without me,
I’m caged forever,
my pirated soul burns,
a ghost of myself,
this parasitic love slowly drains me,
craving the feeling,
please don’t go,
I beg to be free,
I need to be saved,
I’ll never know loves soft cradle,
I know false gods,
I know temporary life,
temporary worship,
I am loneliness,
I am pain,
despair loves me more then people ever will,
sip away my sorrows,
count my burdens,
my ravaged essence,
stolen loves laugh,
time to put this old horse down,
kiss death goodnight
oh love me now
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 10:47 PM UTC
Your words are precision Bombs from slow junkers,
Exploding between my ears. there are no bunkers.
My response tumbles out stuttering like anti aircraft nests.
They hit smoke at best.
The alarms in my brain go off suppressed by tears discharged
Heart, Trust, Ego, Friends over the years the shards.......
Your armaments know where to hit and cause most damage,
The sarcasm of your arsenic love language.
Plumes of fiery emotion flare up, soon loves smoldering cracks .
I dodge your heat seeking adjectives, they encircle in packs.
Cold nights afloat clinging to this yellow deflated ego. falters
Awaiting hope in pirated waters.
Our love is war
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
It's astonishing how difficult I find it to transform my thoughts into ink these days
I don't know how to say it
I guess I never have
Maybe my emotions were conceived this way
To be introverts
To hide in the cave
Where it's nice and warm
I do think about you often
morning midday midnight
Almost as much is the fine grains of sea sand at the shore
Often as my heart softens
I sometimes wonder whether this tortoise computer is a blessing in disguise
Because in the interim as I wait for her while she toils to open a file
I get pirated somewhere in the horizon of your aquarium horizon eyes
Hark, for in that interim
I'm lost in your sweet alloy love
Here in your Turquoise Horizon eyes.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
You stood in the limelight
before a shaft of blazing luminescence
emitted from the zenith positioned
matrix of all energy
The brightness illuminated your
radiant countenance
as blackness enveloped around your
structures as in a early baroque
by Rembrandt
Your form was made from the finest
materials
But your representatives stood in defiance going beyond
their eroded gardens and
trampled vegetation and beast
underfoot; even defecated plutonium
in my backyard
and belched various gases in my face
Luxury is still your ideology;
all to sure in obtaining
unlimited resources
You are still heavily consuming
the best
still maintaining the frivolous notion
that all is well
never anticipating
that time passes into the future
The shaft of blazing sunlight
has insidiously been replaced
by a blinding interrogation lamp
as darkness licks at your morals
and creeps upon your very being
small cracks are now being discovered upon your once lovely face
No longer can you obtain desirous
riches as readily
as options become minimized,
while playing and bullying a winning serious game of monopoly
against poor countries
Panic is beginning to take hold
as reality overcomes frivolity
You are starting to run,
you have already left one of your golden combat boots
in Vietnam; later pirated black gold
from Mesopotamia
under perjury and severed our nation with the fascistic sword of xenophobia,
and plundered the spirits, at home, and other innocent minorities unjustly
And nationalised yourself from a continent to an island regressing
into itself; homogenized into exceptionalism and the nervous propagandized
gnashing of Caucasian teeth
But doubtless to say
there is no reason
for a prince to save you
because you have gotten too old,
much too corporatised,
too corrupted, too soon, too fast,
YOU MUST SAVE YOURSELF!!
And I know you can
And I know you can
be that lady with that beacon torch of hope...once...again
And whence comes the nourishment of love that flourishes once more...
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
one morning, Jack awoke with a distinct feeling
that something was not quite right.
as he peeled his eyes from a crusty sleep
his suspicions were further aroused by a marked loss
of sight from his right eye
as though he was peering through
a thick charcoal jungle
he clutched his hand towards his face
and was alarmed to find
a rather substantial lock of hairs
protruding from his right eyebrow.
wondering if perhaps he might
still be in a world of waking dreams
where one couldn’t really trust one’s intuitions,
he wandered over to the light switch,
flicked it on/off a couple of times.
having reached the conclusion that
he was definitely not dreaming,
and that his retinas
(or his left one, at least)
were definitely receptive to fluctuating light levels
he made his way to the bathroom
to inspect his face, with one hand
bemusedly fondling his recently grown eye-brow fringe.
in the bathroom he stumbled
across his wife sitting on the toilet.
on catching sight of her hairy husband,
she let out a deranged scream.
"darling, you'll alarm the neighbours" said Jack.
but his wife, who did not seem
to be sufficiently worried about
alarming the neighbours,
or anyone in her resident universe
continued to make strange warbling noises.
so, Jack instead decided to study
his growth in the kitchen sink.
although not made from
exemplary reflective material,
the sink was able to confirm
his impression that his right eyebrow had,
overnight, been subject to an alarming rate of growth.
his wife appeared in the doorway.
“I’m sorry for screaming.
it was only because I thought you were a pirate”
she said. and though he knew
that this was just one in many
of a long string of inter-marital lies
that bounced between them,
he let it pass. a decision having
been decided upon in perhaps
not the most democratic manner possible,
Jack's wife fetched the kitchen scissors
from the drawer by the dishwasher.
as she snipped away, chunks of black
fell soft like feathers from sunburnt wings
and landed on the Lino.
Jack felt inexplicably sad.
they went off to work as usual,
and no one noticed
the jagged edge of his once pirated-eyebrow.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 5:11 AM UTC
As I lay dying from across the room, bleeding from across my heart.
I said I swear, I hope to die.
Didn't know you'd consummate my request.
With strained, staring eyes and with my last will I reach to you.
Back demolished, lungs collapsed, brow furrowed, hand imbrue with my A positive evolutionary force.
Drip.
And drip.
Hand, now algid, now violaceous.
Can't. Engage. Muscle memory. Rigidity.
My limbs are limp, my last sacrifice for you.
I never told you that I can see your soul, your aura.
In this very second, as I lay fixated on your glaring portals, your broken windows, I am the one who procures this victory.
Because even though my mortal being is becoming nullified at the expense of your hand...
It was me who broke your heart.
It was my touch that pirated your soul and you will die.
Your energy will never be able to speak another's name again.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 3:23 AM UTC
I buy a shirt, a blue shirt, a button down.
I drink a glass of wine, a red, a Malbec.
And I watch.
I stand still in the midst
of the St. Cloud Market.
The crowd—that singular being—
jostles and jockeys and talks
in broken English.
I chew gum, cinnamon gum, Nicorette.
I feel my habit inverting, bending, becoming mechanical.
And I must flirt and be moral
with the shopkeeper who looks a little
like me.
And I must revert to an irrational, emotional,
childlike state as I buy three pirated DVDs.
The crowd forms a circle instinctually.
Three women dance slowly in the center.
Paper falls from the sky, newsprint, a day old.
Gunfire, the sound of it, its slowing of time.
No one says a thing
and no one's feet make a sound and
every child is perfectly behaved
for one relentless moment.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
Whisper .....
Private and Confidential
Both on oath
To wrestle and sweat
on the plank of blinking light
in the pirated privacy
to a gasping breath
in the light of darkness
till
one loses to the other
and win each other
simultaneously
Lest winning alone
is more shameful
than the game itself
Dim light more delight!
The end of the game!!
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
Darkness erupted like a volcano in my heart,
red flames of fire danced in my head.
A pirated love,
a black doves,
as if there wasn't a rose bed.
The serpent of unforgiveness tore me apart.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
Neighbor: "Hey, what did you get Amber for her birthday?"
BF: I gave her a blank CD and told her it was a rare, pirated copy
titled "Marcel Marceau's Greatest Hits."
Neighbor: "And?"
BF: "She liked it."
Neighbor: That's scary!
copyright: richard riddle 04-12-15
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
You stood in the limelight
before a shaft of blazing light
emitted from the zenith positioned
matrix of all energy
The brightness illuminated your radiant countenance
as blackness enveloped around your structures as in an early baroque by Rembrandt
Your form was made from the finest materials
But your representatives stood in greedy defiance going beyond their eroded gardens and trampled vegetation and beasts underfoot, even defeacated plutonium in my backyard
and belched various gases in my face
Luxury is your ideology,
all too sure in obtaining
unlimited resources
You are still heavily consuming the best
still maintaining the frivolous notion
that all is well
never anticipating
that time passes into the future
The shaft of blazing sunlight
has insidiously been replaced
by a blinding interrogation lamp
as darkness licks at your morals
and creeps upon your very being
No longer can you obtain desirous
things as readily
as options become minimized
Panic is beginning to take hold
as reality overcomes frivolity
You are starting to run,
you have already left one of
your expensive golden combat-boots
in Vietnam; later pirated black gold from Mesopotamia
under perjury
But doubtless to say
there is no reason
for a prince to save you
because you have gotten too old,
much too corporatized,
too corrupted, too soon, too fast,
YOU MUST SAVE YOURSELF!!
And I know you can
And I know you can
be that lady with that torch again...
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Like lightning striking
tenses my chest
with regret
at night
Every time I hear John Mayer,
I think of how I pirated
Battle Studies
in an attempt
to get down your pants
And as I drove down
to your school in Bloomington
it was the soundtrack
when I was inside of you
for those couple minutes
Giving whiskey-dick
disappointment
a name
Like Heartbreak Warfare
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC
Ahem....
We had 104 days of summer vacation, then school turns to life just to end it
So the annual problem for our generation is finding a good way to spend it...
LIKE MAYBE:
Working and working until you are sore, only to come home and plop in bed
Forgetting your taxes 'till the last minute or getting pulled over by feds
Surfing the internet, pinning on Pinterest, or downloading pirated songs
Get halfway through a book, changing your kid's diapers, and watch TV to see there's NOTHING ON!!
As you can see, growing up just ain't easy, but we're in for the overhaul
But we can sit back and laugh at the fact WE DON'T HAVE SCHOOL IN FALL!!!!
YES WE CAN SIT BACK AND LAUGH AT THE KIDS, 'CAUSE WE DON'T HAVE SCHOOL IN FALL!!!
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
I fall in love with broken men.
**** tragedies ****** me with sin.
Handsome cloaks of invisibility,
Obscure and trap in vain utility.
Hero and martyr of all your stories,
Vengeance sought for selfish glory.
Innocents injured from their quarry.
I fall in love with broken men.
Doors lock me out, keeps keys hidden.
Knocking patiently with open arms,
Getting too close trigger his alarms.
Suspicious eyes peek inside.
Skeletons spooked, he runs and hides.
Spyglass searches to glimpse vulnerability,
Weak boundaries highlight insincerity.
Pacifying chit-chat on future home owning
Facing real offer, reveals he lied for a showing.
I fall in love with broken men.
Eclipses excite those worlds they darken.
The moon shines brightest in the night.
Warm pulses beat faster, from dusk’s frost bite.
Fooled by familiar shadows, say devil I know
Not friend but foe, they rob me of my glow.
I fall in love broken men.
Mosaic glued parts, now misshapen
Pirated sea glass left ashore by a hostile.
Cut mermaids who seek a love note in a bottle.
Shatter lines leak, drips proof of last traumas.
Messy flaws teach wisdom, beauty from drama.
I fall in love with broken men.
Divorced of dreams and magic forgotten.
Shut eyes to memories to keep pain asleep.
Nightmares of happy times, disturb the peace.
Drugs pacify crying but fears never cease.
Haunted by ghost stories of witches and fools,
Masks hide his scars, but phantoms are cruel.
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 4:38 AM UTC
To you, Man.
To the day
Your sojourn
From heat and brush
Found fecund crescent
And soil.
To your dogged pursuit,
In dead of winter,
Of meat and succor,
And bone.
To you, Man.
To the day
When your head
Turned upright
And began appraisal
In earnest.
To when your legs
Slaved
And freed your dexterity-
Your able
And working hands.
To you, Man.
To the day
You rendered
The plains beast
And whispered
Life into the still
And dim
Of a cave.
To depiction,
And art.
To you, Man.
To the day
When Nature turned
Her throat to you
In submission.
To your implements
And shafts,
Cutters and
Killers.
To you, Man.
To the day
You woke most Promethean,
And pirated fire,
Stole from the elements
Without ransom.
To your second attempt,
Your brash temptation
Of Zeus' bolts.
Again you stole light
And made no attempt
At mitigation.
To you, Man.
To the day
Your wonder
Exceeded your need,
Begat the metropolis
And smoke.
To your institutions
And monopolies,
Your greed
And bias.
To you, Man.
To the day
You traded war
For affluence,
Fraternity
For dominion.
To your plague
And bitter taste.
And to you, Man.
To today.
And you've a mind
To make up.
Find epiphany,
Wake
Into chivalry
And care-
Sow the seeds of greener leaves?
Or continue in sloth,
Stagnate
And succumb
To waste-
Burn the field for just one ream?
So to you, Man.
O, to you,
Man.
Mar 12, 2011
Mar 12, 2011 at 8:24 PM UTC
We came bearing corporate gifts,
Three Musketeers & Juicy Fruit,
Gummi Bears &
a few Marlboros.
Some of them wore souvenirs T's,
the Bulls & the Yankees,
Disney World
& the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
totally clueless.
Out in the markets,
sat a million capitalists
selling pirated Hollywood
& fake Levis
to make a nickel.
And when we left,
we gave them
even more destruction
by leveling their villages
with another corporate gift,
our Lima M1 Abrams.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
Every rose has its thorn
Every ocean its undertow
You have yours, but I've been lucky
You let me past those walls
And what I found was a friend for a lifetime
I can't remember the day we met
But that's what makes us ourselves
Because you're here to do that for me
It just seems like I've always known you
I've never looked up to someone as much as I do to you
Your artwork, creativity
Your cool rationale,
Your sassy smirk,
The ability you've manifested to be an adult
Driving, job and school, taking care of yourself
You're by my side to search for what I've lost
Literally, Metaphorically
You see this town in the same light I do
We have the same passion, same plans, same past
Almost
When my demons snake thier limbs out for me, it is you I use as my shield
I think you may even be better at keeping things hidden than I am
Thank everything you let me in
You are beautiful, perfect
You do enough, try hard enough
You don't need to lose weight, you can have whatever makes you happy
If you can't trust anyone else, you can trust me
I'm sticking around
I hope I remember the pirated kids movies, all the hair styles you had to do for me, the hiding in your basement from the heat, the hot chocolate, the lunches sitting on the floor of the hall
But there is one thing I am certain I will never forget and that is you being you Aqua
Thank you for being the winter to my spring
Thank you for being a forever friend
Thank you for being you
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
the mountains follow me follow the mountains
the mountains come after me along with the water
along with the lakes along with the rivers
with fish and people and dressings
and ships and pirated and soulful
and love and all sorts of similar
paper airplanes fly in the sky
like my brains and not mine like light
my and not mine as my darkness and mine
but do not forget that my self
that's all my eyes have seen and read
hence I am sand and grass and mountains
and mountains and lakes and you and people
and everything and everyone
18.10.18
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
I don't unwrite words from my pen, my skin, or my heart
nor will I ever unsay something I once said
sometimes I think maybe I should, but I don't
partly because I can't and partly because
I am who I was and who I am now, together
and I will not unwrite poems that breathed
"I love you" out of my soul, I will also not unsay
all the **** you's" that flew out of my lips
driving alone in my car. I will not take back
those words. They are mine as much as any words.
If anything, more. I have been thinking a lot about
privacy: when something is too special to write about
when a moment should be kept to myself. And I've
worked on keeping more things to myself. It doesn't
mean they don't exist. It doesn't mean they aren't real.
If anything, it means that now, I am more real.
I have more of me to myself now. Less of me has been
pirated, parodied, and talked about- I belong to God
who sees all and knows all, and to myself, who bears witness
to words I've spoken in folly and words I've concealed in folly.
I can't guarantee I'll be perfect or always happy
or never **** up again. I can't hardly promise anything.
All I know is that I'm growing up, and Friday night
means books and songs and baths and studying, and I feel
sadder, yes, and also happier, in deeper ways,
I don't quite know who I am and I feel rather lost but
as one grows lost, one finds themselves, and I hope that
it happens for me. After all, I'm turning seventeen soon.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
When will the moon constrict my hopeless burdens away,
when will the cold murderous slumber end,
when will the tigers eyes of tranquility call me again,
when will the rocks braze the underworld beneath,
when will the masks of quivering grief be lifted,
when will these rosegold chains dissolve,
when will the wild beast in my head lay to rest,
when will the ghosts strangle my rugged devotion,
when will I be salvaged by cupids soft arrow,
when will the fatigued ruins of my pirated soul be free,
when will the blistering light of the sun go out,
When will the treacherous waves of the oceans calm,
when will the songbirds symphony of agonizing pain stop singing,
when will the gaps of my devoured heart be mended,
when will my insufferable day of reckoning come,
when will my sullified essence be cleansed and my debt be repaid,
when will the howl of solace encrypt my unqwuentionable love,
when can I sip peacefully from the fountains of youth,
when can I eat the benevolent fruits of prolific endowment,
when will I be saved
When?
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC