"podcast" poems
Sexting Texting What a mess! Texting sexting Do you wanna have *** Flirting How about that ***** Taking naked pictures galore? How can I compete With all that meat That’s got you hooked On a fishing reel Pulling you in So you can spill All over them All the time While you’re here On my dime Resurfacing What’s going on On your phone Am I the only one you’re surfing? I think not! I doubt it a lot! No wonder I didn’t get it. Rehearsing I need a shot! For what I got, Is not enough! Working On this thing, Give me a swing, Stuck in a child. Nursing Or did you not **** the breast Big and full On your mama’s chest? Churching What happened to that spot? Not enough. You got a lot. Cursing Sexting texting Guess I’ll join the game. Texting sexting Maybe this will bring me fame. Or will I proclaim Your name?
Listen to the poetry podcast for more inspiration:
https://www.buzzsprout.com/12801/101854-sexting-and-texting-episode-of-relationship-rock-building-relationships-that-last
or listen to “Sexting and Texting” on iTunes:
https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/relationship-rock-shirah-chante/id670836453#
Watch "Sexting and Texting" on YouTube
https://www.youtube.com/edit?video_id=AQmw9N1rrKE&video;_referrer=watch
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
the newbie failure complex(ity)
the poems come torrentially,
hurricane, waterfall & tornado are working adjectives
worthy of the task, yet unequal to the unlimited army
of the written dead of unread poems and poets
that occupy the nether of blog, podcast, and poetry sites,
orphan stars in the un-salvaged junkyard galaxy of verbiage
a faceless wight, once alive, now permanently dead,
we shuffle march, chanting each our own newbie poem,
onward soldiers to ignominy and glory so fleeting,
we are forgot before we are remembered
*this is life in poetry,
or better yet,
the worst of it, (sigh)
this is the poetry of lives*
all for nought,
nought for all,
at least we pass our prison time
in the company of fellow strugglers*
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
Going left a smile
green* bluesy* drift___
Getting out of debt
The heartedly so flowery
rosy ring around
Gifted box
Valentine Rosy
I box heads over
puppy tails
cozy firey
Love diary doing the
Cutesy
Bow Wow parade
Those red hot lips
cascades
she's... the... lie...
The hue (Anchor- Blue)
Gotcha "Eyes Baby blue
Clue"
To cross my red heart
And hope not to die
The Lady's
finger (Godiva)
I-spy finger*
Heartless Diva
The fork of the road
Lies of the
dead ringer
He points his finger
Face to two face
facelift?
Boom-Boom___
a car crash just a dash
Her beats and hearts
What a crush to her
___left
Tell me sweet lies
I box gift
Oh! Yes you're___ right
Like the scoundrel
The damsel in distress
sweet morsel
I sir box like spots spread
Like the (Chickenpox)
Hearing lies tons of
squirrels
Like Botox Plastic
Rascals
I-box ties
Hallmark, I love you lies
Superman Clark
Outfoxed the ballpark
Little lies blue
big shark
Smartphone I Sir bark
Red Valentine love walk
People are the luckiest
I- wish
Close your eyes sweet lies
Sweet I-Box in Trio
CEO Watching "TV FIO"
Podcast little lies turn
into big lies
Ballot Political list
Romantic cutout card lies
Tell me, Little Lies he trips
Electric lips music chair
Open eyes full shut lips
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
I want a love, a love who adores me
A love who believes I am the grandest love there will ever be
I need a love to believe in me
Even in slights and not adhere to bigotry of family or loss of life
Mischief dies, true love denies, lost is failure of evil tides
Fortune persists for love chimes
Listen to "Love Chimes" poetry podcast
http://www.buzzsprout.com/admin/episodes/110429-love-chimes-episode-of-relationship-rock-building-relationships-that-last
or listen on iTunes, scroll down to #24 and click on Love Chimes
https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/relationship-rock-shirah-chante/id670836453#
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 1:41 PM UTC
I needn't wait until dark
For the killer to stalk,
But I'll unplug my fridge,
Turn off the TV,
I won't use FaceTime
Or socialize on FB.
My cell screen is dark,
No Snapchat or Podcast,
Or Instagram and Vimeo.
The Cloud has been compromised;
In short, disconnect,
For the killer's inside,
And knows what to expect.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 9:59 AM UTC
There are some pro wrestlers
Who always have to get all their **** in
There are people who expect things from them
And they give those things to those people
But for the rest of us
The match becomes predictable
As we await their signature moves
Which is why I think we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
He never had to get all his **** in
He served the story
Not his glory
He displayed the petulance of man
And showed us how we can say the right things
In the wrong way
Yes, we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
Someone who can host a talk show or headline Wrestlemania
Someone who can be comedic or vicious
We need people who understand the importance of looking foolish
As well as the obligation to maintain an edge
And people who can mentor the rookies
While hanging with the veterans
Yes, wrestling needs more people like Chris Jericho
People who don't depend on wrestling
He makes music
And has a podcast
Avenues being paved
For the crossroads many wrestlers face
Between business, art, physicality, and mentality
Where the road being left behind is physicality
It is hard to watch people hang on for the business
Yes, the world needs more people like Chris Jericho
He never cured a disease
Neither did he make one
He's a performer who creates
He creates for the benefit of himself and others
He's not a wrestler who has to get all his **** in
He understands signature moves can become crutches
On the path to a boring finisher
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 4:37 AM UTC
in afternoons i drive through tolls and
smash chicken with a tenderizer, spoon
fed and clean. this isn’t
thailand tropics, not on a scuba dive.
writing’s old, rusty, sick, but ‘oh i
wake and reach out.’
now i live in boston, my sheets smell of
flowers, night bodies, your breath. even when
my frame folds into your side- and you push-
it’s not away, it’s ok. i can fog glasses with my
fingers. i can say hello, goodbye.
once, i combed hair off bath tile(not my own),
searched a loft for reasons to leave
there had to be something, someone
else (you). and now, i’ve stopped—
we watch puppies, magnolias, moon rising
in the park. i fall asleep to a podcast. i smile
in the dark.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
And he's provocative, a provocateur, a beacon of free speech and foul speech and vague speech and pointed speech, pacing the Conference Room Alamo on the ground floor of the Hilton, testing his lapel mike, asking the crowd of eighty, ninety to move to the front rows, and he mouths something to the photographer, a dreadlock'd skin and bones white boy, and the photographer flanks the crowd, angling the shot to solidify the intended narrative: he is a provocateur, a popular provocateur, a staunch opponent of political correctness (which this bystander must note strangely equates to a champion of hate speech), a former poster child for the alt-right, but—and quoting here—he says, "I cannot be pigeonholed," and perhaps that's it, the secret to his former success, his viral, shapeless nature, a terrorist of language and persona, and perhaps that's it, the secret to his demise, his shape forming, his identity emerging from the podcast ghettos and GOP speaking gigs, and he's on the stage and he's in all white and this is intentional, this is the redemption tour, the other-side tour, and the crowd claps now as he pumps his arms (at this point in the presentation they used to shout, I should point out), and he calls Hillary Clinton "Satan's ingrown **** hair," and the men in the audience laugh and pant and cough, and he spends fifteen minutes on fake news and hit pieces and the nuance of video editing and how liberal snowflakes won't stop protesting his appearances (for clarity here, there were no protestors at this event), and he wraps everything rather quickly (especially for the $150 ticket price) and says he has a minute for questions, and a young man, twenty-five or so, asks for tips on becoming the God King of Internet Trolls, and he, the popular provocateur, says, "Ah. The next generation is coming up from behind."
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
Igor found himself producing the hot new reality podcast
about the first [known] father-son transgender family;
he only produced the pilot then left the States in disgrace
after homophobic thugs attacked the set & beat down
the cast & crew in a ****** riot captured live on multiple
hi-def cameras from the multiple angles
already set up for the extravagantly
over budgeted podcast [his master footage recorded
on multiple flashdrives
hidden all over his person - the podcast project
went ahead w/out him backed
by lucrative corporate funding, Igor editing
the original material into his next feature;
Eli lowered the tinted window & passed Igor the Cuban,
Igor lighting it on his way around to the passenger side;
YA ne mogu ostat'sya v Rossii, he says; why's that?
asks Eli, lighting his own cigar & driving off;
Boleye poloviny prestupnikov - gey; Eto stanet khorosho
izvestno; Eli waswatching the street, scouting for new talent;
u can't worry about that kind of **** Igor. u showed people
what those ******** are really about - - a bunch of angry ****
w/ shaved heads,
who knew; opening the sun roof,
Eli blew the Cuban's smoke
towards the Saint Petersburg sky;
Igor reclining the leather seat,
[ ] [ ], [ ]
[ ], [ ] , [ ]
[ ] [ ], [ ]
[ ],
filling his head w/ night
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 4:34 AM UTC
A dampened squished teabag
A butter pecan scented smoke
A frosting covered ash Bowl
A Monday morning podcast
and scattered crumbs on a saucer
Peaceful indeed
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
It’s weird how much
I love times new roman and
how the sight of Jordan Maron playing
below Zero Subnautica makes me clap and grin.
I’m the nonbinary watching youtube to sleep
and to feel comfort. I find the sound of the Misfits Podcast
soothing. The first degree black belt resting on my shelf
means I worked seven years, but when I learn Jiu-Jitsu
I’m up against the wall, stuck in another corner.
My closest friend group full of a bunch of LGBTQ+ and
mentally ill kids, from transgender to bisexual, from depression
to panic attack disorder to separation anxiety. We’re all just trying to survive.
Living comes later.
I’m writing a poem to express who I am, is
this enough? To the heart of me, the soul,
or whatever you want to call it.
Does the horse tattoo I got three weeks ago,
on my left shoulder blade or the way I fold my clothes
in my suitcase tell you? How about the green of my eyes,
that my best friend describes as a soft jade with small streaks of gold,
the outer rim a pillowy chocolate blue?
I love the sound of acoustic guitar and the powerful choruses
thrumming through the air. Editing is always done on paper and
grammar is a learning experience. I go horseback riding every Sunday
with my campus horse club.
But this tells you nothing of my times, when I found myself
Alone, utterly without hope and trust. Or I could say,
I trusted that I was not enough and that I could never amount to anything.
But it’s taken me a long time to take back what was always mine,
and I’m fighting for those rights yet.
I need to wash my water bottle more,
I need to say I love you to my best friend more,
I need to… to…
Love Myself.
And maybe that’s what this poem is for.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
All the edits finished
All the audio in time
Geoff and Garry worked hard
To get the podcast up on line
topics from the serious
To topics quite delirious
full of energy
even one on me
A pair of pop culture pundits
Spewing whatever comes to mind
It's a great bit of entertainment
It might just expand your mind
Take the time to listen now
They may even have a row
You never know
So start the show
The Pendulum Podcast
Is the show of which I speak
They both put it together
They try to put one out
Most every week
It reaches to the geek in us
sometimes you'll need an omnibus
To understand
the things that these two can
It's enjoyable and funny
Take the time
and listen in
Do yourself a favour
It is not a mortal sin
But, who knows where
the show will lead
they do it for the fun not greed
you'll love to hear
The topics these two spear.
check out The Pendulum Podcast on facebook, and youtube. Link to youtube is as follows
http://www.youtube.com/user/ThePendulumOnTV/videos
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
The agitated mind
Comes from restlessness
And anger
Well you know
I am listening to a podcast on tranquility
I am tranquil as I can be
In this terrible environment
As tranquil as I can be
When I can't change my life
No matter how much I try...
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Florescent light in the early morning.
The sun comes up when the rain stops pouring.
Ticking, brooding clock in my head.
I wrap produce on plastic beds.
Plastic earbuds bring me joy
By vibrating air through the void.
"Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead.
I'm reminded and filled with dread.
A podcast speaks on microplastics.
Oceans filled and consequences drastic.
Bothered by the nine to five.
These vibrations keep me alive.
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 3:43 AM UTC
No, I won't turn off the T.V.
so I can concentrate harder
The point is I want to be so care free
that I multi-task out of existence
I do all the tasks at once
I am
I am
I am
even if you say it
Now, I do all the tasks at once
Music
Podcast
Video game
and the antennae TV hum
so I can't skip no commercials
Have my feelers all over the globe
I feel all the feels at once
I am
I am
I am
even if you say it
Now, I feel all the feels at once
Music
Podcast
Video game
Now, I do all the tasks at once
I am
I am
I am
Even if you say it
I just need you to say it
I am
I am
I am
Even if you say it
I just need you to say it
Nov 6, 2021
Nov 6, 2021 at 7:15 AM UTC
Debauchery was in the air for all of us last night.
Neo hip hop stoner jive.
I once watched my friend break down into tears after
hearing a Phil Collins song while shopping for dinner
in a Louisville gas station.
Angela will get up and leave the room if The Reason by Hoobastank
comes on the radio and you still listen to Closing Time when you get ready for bed.
Weird phrases are hovering through the air.
I turned on the bathroom fan to avoid sitting in silence with myself and you ripped up all my potted plants and sold my favorite arm chair on craiglist.
I wake up sobbing.
You were chewing on a red pen, but i thought it was a twizzler. I worked up the courage to ask you for one.
The chainsaw love song of the jumping spider
makes the snare drums in your ears roll.
Its gold in the right light.
Even better in the under light.
I told you i think its weird that everyone buys shoes
and maybe some people feel about their shoes
the way i feel about my shoes,
Which is a good feeling.
I am writing this poem while other people
read poems that the have written also.
I am too anxious to ask people when podcasts become a thing
and what does it mean to be a podcast?
A friend once said it would be cool if your poetry professor
told you to **** off but its also cool when they get you a
glass of water at the poetry reading where you are writing poems.
I think the girl in front of me is writing a poem too.
I wonder if she writes about spiders.
I wonder if she is giving her mom a poem for her birthday.
I wonder if she drafts poems about how you make her feel but
deletes them before they burn into her laptop screen.
I wonder how you feel when you make me feel good and happy.
I hope that you feel like the way i feel when you make me feel good and happy.
I am glad we are friends. I want you to play piano with me on sunday evenings
so we can prelude into the perpetual strain of sunday to saturday.
It may, if we play loud enough, dampen the bodies of the
****** and doomed that we inhibit on weekdays.
I wish I could write poems that inspire your poems.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
…For Now
the people I know are talking taxes, the price of heat, ******* food!
The people he serves
wipe their spoons on silk napkins, slap each others’ shoulders
take each others’ wineskins, corkscrews in their eyeballs,
walL sT. on their grins
The people I know get up in the morning, every morning,
everyday (in every possible way) to get to work,
work all day, then come home tired, a bit more afraid
The people he serves are out of his league
truly rich men with swash-buckle needs
avarice men with bundles of greed
to lay upon the stooges who desecrate the dream
who pick up the court jester and let him play lead…
we fund them both – the rich man and the clown
dress them up in emperor clothes, bow down
to their blows, we take it all and plead for parity,
wipe their smell from blistered hands
cuddle in cameraless work-cells
with a smartphone or a podcast jam
The people I know talk about the government
the inequality, the lopsided way it’s rigged,
the unfairness in squeezing every dime
tell each other things like – ‘chin-up’ ‘don’t give up’
‘nothing we can do about it anyway’
The people I know,
talk
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
To educate myself
It was about $155,000
Since elementary school
At the age of 30
My account reads -$60
Oh I don't suppose it matters
Our dollars are about as valuable
As toilet paper now
I am enjoying listening
To a podcast on tranquility
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
my father says i tell him bedtime stories,
which technically is true.
tucked under blankets with his ancient lamp,
emitting soft light around the room.
perched on my mother's half,
slivers of a hobby within my brain,
transferring thoughts into words.
with heavy eyes, he listens.
discussing contents of products,
the beauty industry, and my favorite podcast.
telling of fashion designers, cosmetic chemists,
iconic red soles, and what he calls "face goo."
turning the analysis within my mind into words;
rambling, letting tension in my brain drain.
we balance each other out;
puts him to sleep, gives me an outlet.
i tell my father bedtime stories,
all fresh to him, while i've been obsessed.
my wildest dreams I long to be a part of,
while he drifts into his.
Aug 17, 2021
Aug 17, 2021 at 9:01 PM UTC
Listening to a podcast
On the four noble truths
And the eightfold path
My akward body
Is still the same
My akward body
It will not change
I read on the back of some protein bar
"This bar is for the doers"
"For the busy,"
What a bunch of nonsense
I live inside a computer simulation
Non-doing
Non action
You know one day I realized
That no therapist
No amount of praying
Would ever fix my shoulder
Why did this happen to me?
I just want a normal shoulder
Good people like me
Suffering with a disability
Oh well
Same dull face
Yesterday
I lay against the rock
On the public library lawn
I listen to podcasts
My car is being fixed
I will walk akwardly
To the post office
Then to the gym
Just going through motions
Again and again
It's all meaningless
Plain to see
An absurd planet
It seems to be
The urge to eat
The urge to have an ******
Repetitive urges
Chipping golf *****
Relaxing I suppose
Bleh, blah, bleh
Ignored by women
I don't care
Look at that beetle
Walking over there
Human life
Is awfully dumb
Miserable taoist
Says a kind hello
A conversation with
A caring person
Would be fun
But my prayers
Remain unanswered
Guess they are not
That important anyway
Listening to more podcasts
On this day
Some cereal, yogurt
And oranges
I did eat
They really were
A delicious treat
Walking in and out
Of forest trees
Extinguishes all desire
Is how it should be
Beautiful and vain people
Everywhere
My dull earth body
I walk akwardly
Who cares?
From dust I came
To dust I shall return
This is my poem
Now its your turn
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
Summer fills me with nostalgia in a way that I cant explain. But when the air hears up and the black ants crawl all over our house I find myself remembering when we covered the window with sheets so we could sleep when it was still light.
Most years I was alone, friends not good enough to contact outside of school.
I stayed up late in bed reading every night. It was during summer that I stumbled on my first podcast, on my first ****** novel, on my first question of gender.
In the heat of summer I sought change. Alone, I struggled with questions of college and career and the future. I despaired, sobbing into my pillow until I fell asleep.
Summer is full of possibility, of the past, of the future.
I caught fireflies out on the lawn, I put cicada husks in a jar and kept a tally, I invented games for myself and my sisters. I work late nights and come home to a warm house. I eat cereal for 3 meals a day.
The rules don't apply to Summer.
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 12:14 AM UTC
Please! Wait
Feeling so low__
Like his (Blowfish)________ bait?
Jazzzzeeeey_____
Only temporary Oh! geez
Robin Razzamatazz
What!! All about Love
Candy Pez
((Enter me Expandable))
I need to fish
around so flexible
He
comments
You're quick______**
The Vampire Garlic
RIP I have young-blood
I will just relive again
To expedite
what remains
Love unconditionally
All hired with conditions
The restless young
outbreak
Native New Yorker
The busy talker
draw flush
In the Navy
Fleet week Baby
meeting crush
The Quickie
interview
Gift of gab
stalker
Or the hermit of Hermits
Languages
No demerits
Racing down
her wicked
thighs shower his
muscles
Sprinkle cone
Iced me
mortgages
get
me sick way to
quick to even sigh
Whats up with
patience
Include the Immigrants
Somehow American
women
Not very productive
They had Robot
watchdog like Gods
The money
where your Apple
Mouth I-Yahoo computer
And follow me
All followers
Kevin Quick morning
Bacon
Stallone Rocky_____
____ Expandable
In the native lands
Over the border
The Ventriloquist
Nesquik
Emigrant exhibitionist
Deviant outsider
The Spy Breadwinner
The I pod doing
the podcast
Outcast lady
The rain in Seattle
Hanky Panky
Snoopy hang on
Aboard love boat
so foreign
Her kitten tongue
was wide open
Eye wide but
quickly minds shut
Did it say?
((Too Quick))
((White Doves)) website
Riders of the Morrison
dorm
Ouija board storm
Him hungry
for her
smorgasbord
Stars flu
* Planetarium+
Miss Tory friend
Terry's mouth
of Sherry
Met all their lovers
Sweet Cherry wine
In the Sanitarium
Your words are
not to hinder me
Kiss of an angel
You compelled me
Such a coincidence
The spell too quick
No heart of
citizenship
Walk like a man
Talk like a
foreigner real slick
In another land
Dance like an Egyptian
From the Godly land
No man is
quick enough
To expedite
The quicker man
Beaten by the
bodyguard
No God this is a
Ladies Island
Pulp Fiction absurd
Vanilla milkshake
Saturday Fever
Cons
So many Johns
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC