"premade" poems
hand cranked
re-imagined 35mm slides
Rough Trade posters
on the wall
Pepsi and premade sandwiches
on the counter
aperture: wide open
he sees her often at the multiplex
there she flirts
from the third row; second seat
sheer blouse
hands in elliptical motion
pointing toward
silk chiffon shells
the invite in a tilt of her mouth
lip; gloss
eyes hidden from the light
a prayer before intermission
celluloid reliquary
reveals God's plans
lest her trifling with him
cause a miss in changeover
enraging his self-regarded audience
the walk back to his car
one long montage of her lacing up
May 24, 2023
May 24, 2023 at 10:02 AM UTC
Built plastic houses
in plastic lives
With plastic wives
And plastic knives
For safety
Safely snoogled in a lie
Cannot cry when its gone
Yet i try
With plastic tears
And plastic faces
Plastic years
And premade places
To visit
From plastic spaces
In my heart
In plastic pains
From plastic drains
Of my plastic dreams
With Elastic seams
Stretching the view
We all knew
To be real
Once
In plastic poetry
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
The serpent slips
into my veins,
and whispers thoughts
into my brains.
I don't know
which way to go.
I am just a nomad soul;
a naked trip,
a change and a chance.
Lay me with your
premade dance.
I'll put my snake
in a cage
for a while.
Touch my heart
with frozen smiles,
drip-drop, dreams,
and similar things
creep into my eyes
as I walk
another way --
some place that is light;
a fading song
with rearview mirrors,
contacts clearer --
I will keep in line,
the velvet and divine;
you are kissing my spine;
Shine with me.
Dine with me.
No more serpent,
only seas.
But, everything looks perfect
from far away;
and I am so close.
Do you hear me breathing?;
a stomach so heavy.
I am a queen,
and you're feeding me.
You found me in the dungeons,
and now I am free.
A wondrous throne
of transformation,
but none the less --
an innovation.
Will evolution
do us well,
or drown us in pity
and other sad things?
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 8:11 AM UTC
As a young child I would
awaked from my mid-day nap
to the glorious smell of fresh
home-baked cookies, not the
premade out of the tube crap
... the real deal made by mom
Was I dreaming of her awesome
soft baked chocolate chips, the
classic sugar cookie or the
peanut butter thumb print
No matter... I was good with
anything produced by her hand
Sneaking down the stairs to the
kitchen I follow my nose to
discover nothing but aroma
Mixing bowls are all cleaned and
no sign of any used baking sheet
First instinct is to climb the cabinet
and search the old hiding spot
to no avail, she has out smarted
me yet again in concealing evidence
No jar is left probing by my best
Sherlock Holmes investigation
the HIDDEN COOKIE JAM will
not outwit me again and again
I will seek you until I find you
then I will lay waste to you like
Cookie Monster had his way on
Sesame Street.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
Okeh, three ways, in the opening pitch,
the plan is novel, in itself. Okay, ok, si yes da ja.
We know, we do this part,
as words in mind, nada mas, a thought caught
as a poesy fallen star,
from Lawrence Kansas, not too far from
Shawnee Mission,
now that the meme and its meaning meet once
more, realizing a time kept hidden, for fear
of believing more than a Marvel Mind,
straight from first edition, Boom, era, of fully
Disneyfied American Mind, sponsored by
Mattel its swell
and Mars Candy Company and other child aimed ads,
though there was this unaffiliated
- channel, I was about to say, of course
- groove, rut, a grave - with its ends kicked out,
Can you
Imagine, he said that
amen?
and we all agreed at once, and what do you know,
there is a mind in the grand linkage system,
forged from ice by iron plows,
balance demands, optimum life on earth calls
the call to us all, be the thorny issue ye be
ye nanifestations of Romans 8, taken in minds
conjoining to attain, peace made
for temperature equilibrium,
just right…
think of it from an angelic anthro-myth-ledged being,
see the book of life talk to you, and say,
look, man, we made it, and we made it back.
But unless the temperature is going up, we failed.
Try again,
but no war this time. That's proven too self willed
a thing to give children premade.
My stick men were all Audie Murphy, when I was six.
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 6:41 PM UTC
It was a blind pick type of match, premade
You're a full kit, a pro, a stunner
But my focus, my chase, my dive, my pathing
For you, my target, to you, my destination, were on lockdown
With a flash spell you summoned
I was instantly cast
Unsuspecting, you took me off guard
Hooked, gank, gap closer, leash, pull
I was a full tank
building up my defenses
MRes, taking care to keep myself safe from the ****
But I'm Rdy, a Sleeper OP
I'll Hold
I'll cover your lane
Defend your tower
Protect your base
A Rambo attempt; diving in alone
A Proxy strategy; high risk high reward
A Skillshot; an aim that can potentially miss
Say you'll commit,
That you won't retreat
Say that you'll fight
Until the battle is complete
To my Champion, my Main,
My FotM
FF; I surrender my heart
No DC, No MIA, No QQ
WP my love GJ
GL my love HF
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 10:21 AM UTC
I am tempted to leave it
To give up again
Once and for all
But I find I can't
I made an oath to myself
To finish what I started
To challenge my feelings
But I am left thwarted
I wish I saw her side
All the mistakes I've made
Could I have prolonged it?
The inevitable, premade
I was always going to fail
But this ******* glimmer of hope
The good old learning experience
Has left me at the end of a rope
It's not even over for god's sake
The glimmer's still there
Only very dimm
Why can't I not care?
I have to see her every day
This is not my choice
I only wish to help in the end
But the indifference in her voice
Makes me have to pretend to understand
But I can't, I won't
Will I never?
No telling if it is worth it
Still, this can't last forever
Can it?
Painful bliss, Blissful Pain
Is my present, my drain
Now I feel only rain
But from dead, dry earth
What has anyone to gain?
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
You cut me down,
I cut you out,
Skipped town,
On a red eye flight
Never could be something perfect in your eyes
Never let me shine my own true light
Despite of you I'm gonna be alright
And you'll never bring me down,
You moved in, to a premade family by numbers
Coloured in the numbers you liked
Left me empty, and blank,
Nothing more than a number on a page
Never could be something perfect in your eyes
Too many wrong roads, too many wrong songs
Despite you, I'll get mine
And I'll never let you bring me down, to the ground
Don’t go calling me anymore,
You left the tree, right where it stood
I grabbed my slippers and the half smoked joint
You made your bed; I slammed the door
Keep counting your greed
You will not buy me
I never needed money,
I just wanted you around
I’m doing alright,
I’m getting mine
Without you,
Without your love
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
There's something in you
that I thought was made just for me.
As if somehow
when the gods made me and you,
they carved a piece of my heart
and gave it to you.
Or took a piece of your soul
and gave it to me.
When I met you,
I felt I was done searching because
there you were
mine.
My love.
But nothing in you
is made just for me.
It's for you, and only you.
You have no obligation to me
or any other person.
You are a whirlwind.
You are a forest fire.
You are a star refusing to flicker out.
You are a love of a lifetime
destined to touch far more hearts than mine.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
Two petite pretties
pranced before me
paragons of the
impoverished society
that values surface
over depth
The dancing debutantes
Dangled their dangerous
And dubious dispositions
Directly in front of me
Enter stage bad boy
Blustering buffoon
With a silver spoon
So far up his ***
He spewed silver polish
On his nice Polish pants
Cash in hand
He passed around
His affluences
Like it was influenza
Vomiting vague
Platitudes with
So much attitude
As if he had
Anything valid to say
But this crowd was rapt
With the vapid vocalist
He drank expensive ****
To prove he was valid
No valor just vain vagaries
On display to frustrate me
Greatly
They celebrated the success of a
Failing millionaire who was premade
By the fortune that his father made
To bail him out of all of his mistakes
As he played society like a broken violin
I was trying to bring talented art back in
But society placed me in the trash bin
Before I could even begin
To purge the poison
The incurably incurious
Perpetuators of
Shallowness
So I bow out of this
Cause I thought
We were working together
To make each other’s life better
But it turns out I was
Running a race
I did not even know about
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
Happy days
Oh happy days
Not to many of those, I'm afraid
Here they come and there they go
Happy days
Oh happy days
When will I find one again
Perhaps the dates have been premade
Though, a thought not main
Happy days
Oh happy days
What have you for me
Today
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC