"prep" poems
Being a coach is hard
Winning isn't everything
It all stats during practice
Arrive early to prep for the team
The ones who want it show up on time want it
The best players show up late
Running bases conditioning for the game
Batting cages to help with the swing
Playing catch helping the team work as a unit
Till the day of the big game
Slide to the base with technique practiced
Cutoff play to make an out
Team functions without doubt
Play hard play right win or loss giving it your all
Coach does right by the team no need to fight
Lets win and take the season play and do
What the team does best play softball
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
First there is the prep.
The roommate.
Wearing salmon colored pants.
He has Shaggy from Scooby Doo
On his left thigh.
The alcoholic.
She has a drinking problem.
She is in denial of her drinking problem.
She hangs out with the loners.
The loners.
Unkempt, unattractive and fat in all the wrong places.
The blond looks like Tom Petty.
The one with dark hair, glasses and braces
They live next door.
Living together but segregated.
Wild cards.
All of us.
©Gambit '13
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 9:10 AM UTC
In front of the mirror doing my hair,
It’s all in the prep work, don’t despair,
Soon be time for the big event,
all this grooming is time well spent,
walk like a robot, keep a straight face,
don’t want a single hair out of place,
grab the phone, yes this is the spot,
set it all up for the perfect shot,
try to look natural, find the right pose,
hide the blemish that’s on my nose,
impossible angles, arm muscles ache,
the phone in my hand is starting to shake,
follow the light, keep stumbling back,
I think I’m having a panic attack,
all this stress is really no fun,
but a click of the button and the deed is done !
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Exams:
How wonderful they are
Because in the moments leading up to them
I’m ******* happy
A fantastic sense of euphoria
Something I haven’t felt in forever
Because teachers stop teaching
A few days before
Easy reviews and exam prep starts
And I get to relax
Nothing new to learn
Just old things to remember
Then they actually happen
And I remember why they’re so horrid
Cramming the night before
When your friends tell you
The test wasn’t as easy as you’d hoped
And remind you that no amount of prep could prepare you
Exams are ******* hard
Don’t you dare try to tell me otherwise.
I cry myself to sleep after hours of staring blankly at a full sheet of paper
Eyes wandering but not focusing
My mind turned to madness
Euphoria gone all too soon
And I’m back to hating myself
Wanting to quit and give up everything
But I can’t
Because as everybody says
It’s just exams
Like they don’t realize the anxieties and pressure that come from those four letters
I hate them
And the worst part is I know I’ll survive them
And have to suffer through again next year
And the year after that
Until the year that the exams conquer me
Absolutely destroying me inside and out
And I guess I’ll just wait for that to happen
Hopefully sooner rather than later.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 9:28 PM UTC
For 21 days I saw changes wrought
by the freedom of 22 years
Secrets of razor wire straight and taut
Speak of those who continue to fear
I saw nature’s beauty in land and face
As black heel continues to rise
Via school, ambition they prep for the race
Even as secretly despised
What’s changed in Soweto? I did not live
But photos and newsreels survive
Pictures of shanties bulldozed to give
Whites room to extend their hives
Now malls; monuments to white retail
Built on Mandiba’s words
Polished chrome and marble hail
“Happy” workers in a black-faced world
Monuments ringed with vendors tribal
Carved goods for sale and cheap
The rands they make do not rival
What multi-nationals’ continue to reap
Happiness is shallow until sundown
When the curtain of decorum lifts
Showing reality’s new shanty-town
Where space and plumbing are gifts
I wonder if He would be okay
Seeing his people so used
As pawns for labor with little say
As black is seldom excused
The young know the time is now
As old hatred’s in shallow graves
To be unearthed by book and plow
Keeping dreams from stunting and fade
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
.*England... no wolves... oh well... the next best "spirit animal"..? Bacardi! no wait... Whyte & Mackawy?! no... **** what could it be... and believe me, Maine **** cats share a disposition of curiosity with this feral creature... this Robin Hood... what animal is it? hmm...*
it was supposed to your generic,
bog-standard Saturday afternoon,
i was given the pleasure of
cooking dinner...
Xacuti chicken curry with
star anise & nutmeg
from the Goa region
of India and
a curry from Sri Lanka...
absolutely beauties...
evidently...
all that heating of the spices
on a pan and then blending
them in a coffee mill...
seriously spread like a forest fire...
not too long... well,
by the time i finished
all the prep for the second curry,
and was already letting it
simmer...
to my honest disbelief...
and this was mid afternoon,
about half six -
bright as ******* daylight...
who's this?
hello?
you like the smell i see?
god...
what a pristine healthy example
of the feral -
and the most beautiful eyes...
had to take a picture...
so i asked again?
does it really smell that good that
it has given you the kind
of cheek and audacity to risk
climbing out from your
safety prior to nightfall?
**** i heard before that
i am a good cook...
but you, dear fox -
have paid the biggest compliment,
ever.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
t/w: violence, death
-
dear little miss dreamer
i'm sorry i couldn't write to you sooner
but yesterday night, i've read all three
each and every one of your letters
your mother sounds lovely
a brave woman, from what you've told me
if your brother comes by downtown
tell him, he's welcome to visit me
you have some big dreams
and i hope i can help them come true
i'm sorry i've been so busy
but i would truly love to meet you
you remind me of my wife
of her dreams when she was your age
we grew up together in center city
like you, she was wise beyond her days
i agree, we need to help kensington
and we've begun taking some small steps
i'm pushing for a new bill to pass
but it'll still take some time to prep
i know you mentioned drugs and violence
and yes, i agree, it's completely true
please stay safe and stay inside
it could help protect you
actually, that just reminded me about kensington
my wife had told me some shocking news
a mother chased to her kitchen counter
a little girl, shot, in the same view
i think she was writing a letter, too
but i don't quite remember who exactly to
it was titled, i think, "dear mister life-changer"
wait, it couldn't be— no, God, please, not you—
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 9:52 PM UTC
Eyes so deep, you could drown
Felt like seeing a queen with a crown
She looked like she was in a foreign land
Broke away from a life that was bland
Smiling like a fool but was aware too
A big responsibility, only taken by a few
She was ready to take the next step
Now all that was left was for her to prep
Sep 24, 2021
Sep 24, 2021 at 8:47 AM UTC
There are boys that cry,
There are girls who have dry eyes.
There are boys that dance or play volleyball,
There are girls that wrestle or play football.
There are boys who drive VW Bugs,
There are girls that drive trucks.
There are boys that bake,
There are girls that shred.
There are boys that like the Notebook,
There are girls that like Transformers.
There are boys that are romantics at heart, looking for love,
There are girls that aren't into flowers or love songs.
There are boys with hair to their knees,
There are girls with shaved heads.
There are boys with diaries and journals full of memories,
There are girls who have no desire to write down all the details.
There are boys with names like Aubry,
There are girls with names like Sam.
There are boys with insecurities about their bodies,
There are girls who don't weigh themselves ever.
There are boys with eating disorders,
There are girls who work out for the ideal 6 pack.
There are boys that prep endlessly for a date,
There are girls who take 5 minutes to get out the door.
There are tidy, neat boys,
There are messy, whirlwind girls.
There are boys in dresses,
There are girls in baggy jeans and a pullover.
There are boys who shop endlessly,
There are girls who can't stand the mall.
There are boys that talk about their emotions,
There are girls who would rather not.
There are boys that look after the kids,
There are girls that work full-time.
There are boys who are nurses,
There are girls who are engineers.
There are boys who cook,
There are girls that change the oil in the car.
There are boys who are complacent and subordinate,
There are girls who are dominant and overpowering.
There are boys with no desire to get it in on the first date,
And there are some girls who wouldn't mind if they do.
And those are all okay. Gender stereotyping only limits what you can and can't do. Let the boys cry and write poetry and eat chocolate when they're sad and talk about their feelings. Let the girls be aggressive and wrestle their buddies and play ball and drive sports cars. Let people do as they please. You're born as you a are, you can't decide what gender you are. You can decide what you do with your gender though, or rather what it won't keep you from doing. Your gender is only an aspect of who you are, don't let it dictate your actions to appease a society that has deemed what is and is not okay for you to do simply because you're either a guy or girl.
There are boys and girls that can grow up to be what they please, do as they wish and speak as they will. Don't be the one to tell them otherwise.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
She was like the iron pyrite
The teacher asked them to examine, and describe;
Cold, dense and prickly,
Difficult to love.
Given the right light
And a gentle handling,
Oh, how she'd sparkle,
But in that place, expectations and sensory overload
rendered her lumpen, and resistant.
Removed from her books and her inner world - all she needed -
And placed in a maelstrom,
She was bewildered and forlorn.
Un-cooperative, they called her,
And the teachers loved the other gems instead,
Pretty little nuggets; Ruby, Jasper, Jade.
Two years of discouragement and dislike
And even the tentative sparkles had darkened.
The other gems enjoyed each other
And moved away from her magnetic pull,
sensing difference.
No outright meanness, not yet,
But hints were brewing, whispers had started
And she wandered alone, in the playground,
Talking to the seagulls, and singing to herself.
The teachers only wanted conformity
And called her parents to voice concern
about her lack of friends.
Had they asked her, allowed her to have a say
She would have told them it didn't matter
But they were determined that it did, to them, if not to her,
And her parents were added to the burden of people
Worried and disappointed, watching.
She knew now, she was different, she had always known but never minded,
Now it was a problem. She didn't fit,
Like that scratchy purple uniform, around her chubby waist
Food didn't judge, dislike or condemn.
That life ended, and a new struggle, in a new school, began.
This was harder; the meanness was apparent now,
Difference wasn't tolerated
And someone wandering alone was a target.
She found a place to hide, behind a staircase, with a book,
But they found her, removed her and patrolled her only refuge
Forcing her to submit to the torture.
Every day was a war zone,
So she found another way, and embraced ill-health, stealthily
Spraying deodorant directly into her own face
induced asthma attacks; and not all those ear infections were real,
She was an accomplished actress.
She got through it, millions do.
She found her own place, her own friends in her own time.
Among Onyx, Jet and Tigers Eye
Her darkness didn't mark her out as different,
And all that fake illness
Was great prep for theatre,
Where she was able to return to her inner world,
And no-one cared if you feigned madness
Or embraced the real thing.
Difference was celebrated,
The whispers now, were that she had a great stage presence,
And a talent to be nurtured,
Not a difference to be despised.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
What does one gain
from completing the mundane tasks of daily living?
Laundry
Folding
Cleaning
Food prep
Vacuum
Dusting
Windows
Drain
Choose a color scheme for your home
A point of inspiration
"The History of Interior Design"
Choose your Lifestyle
Color your Path
What's the point?
Cable television
The Nuclear Family
Entertaining
The dodging of Lonelihood
Wouldn't you rather be a dolphin?
Dancing by day
And sexing by night
My furniture is coral
My upholstery is seaweed
Feng Shui by Poseidon's Design
Pulp Fiction.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
I have a special interest in telling about my colonoscopy.
The doc cheerful, secure in his specialty, colon cancer being
the second leading cause of cancer death after lung tumors.
They can snip the precancerous polyps right out of you during the test.
At first the doc gave me the statistics but having paid 25 bucks for this
interview
I decided to make him explain the science. He was most comfortable
describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic
polyps
but what about cell structure I said. He was vague about genes and
hormones,
I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman.
I wasn’t worried although my *** was burning.
Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse
models for dying—
mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul
Newman in Hombre—or hagiography
Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun.
Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all
before,
acting tough, which isn’t actually an act
you do your prep and say your prayers.
I thought I’d be in and out **** as you probably already know
the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi. A day of fasting,
clear fluids only, and constant voiding.
You arrive at the hospital one spiritual chicken.
I reflected it can’t hurt, lose a little weight, remember who you are
without so much **** and flesh between you and the natural world.
Snipping polyps is like taking electrons to a lower quantum energy level,
nearer the nucleus, with fasting and ****** abstinence.
The art of total presence and abstinence, dependence on the Other for
future existence.
May 15, 2024
May 15, 2024 at 7:09 AM UTC
no breath to breath
no life to live
we're all the same on this broken bridge
we hide our face and cover tears
in hopes the pain will disappear
we walk alone in our dark despair
as we prep our veins for this drug called society
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
I went from a top ten student with A's all around
To a barely B- GPA.
I go to school with sadness and a frown
Every single Gold Day.
I hate the fact that I took your class,
A mistake I'll never forget.
It's college prep sophomore biology,
Not your ******* dictatorship.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
7:10 AM: I knew the time was coming for you to leave me, for you to prep for your surgery and go under. Thinking about you leaving hurt me in every way possible.
7:11 AM: You said it was time to go, but you promised till 7:15. I started crying again, even though I had just stopped.
7:12 AM: I told you goodbye, even though it was the hardest thing I had done in forever. (I prayed for you too many times in the last few hours, I prayed for a goodbye that was meaningful.)
7:13 AM: You told me goodbye... I hate goodbyes. I never want that to be the last thing I say to someone.
7:14 AM: We both agreed that we loved each other equally. I mean it with every fiber of my being, I love you with everything I am. I'll give you the Universe, don't worry baby.
7:15 AM: You were gone. You said your last "I love you" and left me to say it back with tears rolling down my face and ugly sobs escaping my mouth. Nothing has ever hurt so much, not even when I had that awful kidney infection. I felt like someone took my heart straight out of my chest and ran over it with a stampede of elephants... Nothing has ever pained me more than seeing those words, those three little beautiful words, because for a few mere seconds, I thought they were your last.
Love is wanting the best for them even when its not the best for you,
and I really believe that God was testing me in these last few weeks because I could have left and spared me the tears (not that it was ever an option, because it isn't, trust me)... but I have stayed and I so glad I am still here to support her and love her with everything I have inside of me. She deserves everything I can give her and so much more.
I love her so very much.
And she loves me equally.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
Stage One - Experimentation:
I've seen it before, on movies and television shows.
The peer pressure, the giving in, the going back again.
And that's exactly what it felt like to me.
The pressure of your hand against the small of my back,
The way my body fell apart at your touch,
Like an ancient foundation crumbling,
And the desire that stirred in my chest to feel your touch once more.
At first, I only wanted a taste of you.
But the thrill that you brought me was something not easily forgotten.
Stage Two - Regular Use:
It became a casual thing,
Feeling you coursing through my bloodstream.
A knock on the door like the prep of a needle,
And your hand pulling me in like the ***** of skin,
And within seconds, a high I couldn't recognize,
As though I was walking on the sky and the
Grass was tickling my eyelashes,
And your fingers were pressed
Into the dimples in my hips.
Step Three - Risky Use/Abuse:
Before I knew it,
I was lying awake,
Wide-eyed in bed at night,
Imagining your fingertips
Tracing the inside of my thighs.
So I brought my pillow and blanket
And pitched a tent at the foot of your bed.
Then swore to myself I'd never leave your house again.
Step Four - Drug Dependency:
A minute without your breath against my neck
Causes my chest to burn and my knees to shake,
But every time your breath fills my lungs,
I can feel the years of my life falling away.
Your lips are my nourishment,
Your sighs are my fluids,
And your kiss is my IV drip.
Every part of you has consumed every inch of my thoughts,
Even the dusty corners I have forgotten about,
And with every gentle touch, I can feel the withering of my heart,
Like a flower never to bloom again,
But it's a beautiful destruction.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
Plastic smiles
I don a fake face
I prep myself
For the day.
The time is coming
When they'll all see
Me for who I am.
This is the day
This is the day
They lose
They can't see
Who I really am.
They don't know
It's all a sham.
The time is coming
When they'll all see
The mask that hides my face.
This is the day
This is the day
I win
Oh, look what you've done
We're all fools
Every one.
And this
This is the day
We live
I'm "too big"
I'm "too small" now
"Wear a wig"
"Take it off" now
What do they want,
What do they want
From me?
Oh, look what you've done
We're all fools
Every one.
And this
This is the day
We live
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
sometimes it's tiring
to sit and listen
to our friends
who talk about labels
labels of clothing
labels of people
labels and labels
silly names for what
they want to be known for
hipster
geek
or
prep
but what do these labels serve?
the greed for attention?
our eyes drawn to
their facebook pages
their clothes
their hair and their
make up
but do we really see them?
we're blind to the souls
and overlook the spirits
of our peers
with selective sights
we look on the surface
and judge what we see
to be what they are
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC
you told me to prep for a new season, that what was dying is now dead
said we must steel ourselves with warmth against the first frost, it was the worst no
it was a testament or
just a test
& here, where we carve our winters from the gentle curve of the ampersand
from punctuation that's meant to bring us closer but only moves us further apart
like the swell of a gentle tide &
even the beach must face bitter winds filled with eburnean matter meant to cling to our skin
we will reenact this act, this ampersand
you are the skin
i am the surf no
i am the sand
no
i am the snow
&
nothing is warm
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
A shout out to my history teacher who makes the time to teach
for I’ve picked up on the subtext she can’t speak:
if you teach to the test no one’s really being taught
all we learn is to chase empty numbers
and you wonder
why we’re all burnt out
when the end goal isn’t our happiness now
when the very organizations meant to support education
profit off those who have no choice but to turn to them
when the ones who can pay to prep
the ones who work until they can't see straight,
the so called “high achievers”
are the only ones who matter
and we ourselves kick everyone else off the ladder
if standardization is supposed to make education equal
then at the very least it should teach
that we all have a spot,
that in society, we can all be contributing members,
but it’s not.
like my history teacher’s given me,
we need lessons to life rather than to test
it’s time we set a better example for our students
Teach us that even when the blocks have fallen down, we can rebuild the tower
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
early after-noon, she quizzes,
“would I be ok with
skinless boneless roasted
chicken breast, with sautéed
mushrooms for our dinner,
ce soir?”
so smile I,
for it is a favored menu
of pleasure,
from one who has never
presented us a meal
that is less than perfect
later, she shyly inquires,
“would be ok if we to eat
a little early, I have a salon,
followed by an
Argentine Tango dance milonga
tonight and one starts early (and
tango parties
end typically
the next day?
(no|si, me, don’t dance)
of course, respondez in
the affirmative, thus
confirming our love with the
consideration that veins
out affection mutual
and then I add:
“instead of an hours food prep,
which distracts you from the hour
deeded for dressing
for dancing motivation proper,
and add a little kick-her:
*I love you so much,
would happily consume
your tuna fish salad sandwich,
every night, for the rest of our
lives together, it’s fast
and simple, a dis-less-stressing
concoction, that we both enjoy*
she (s)miles a sweetened thanks,
after numerous reassurances,
that our love only grows
stronger with acts of smart
sensitivity to each others needs,
no standard of care breached,
au contraire, meant sincerely,
earning me a secondary
whiling smiling
and this true story is a poem,
has been writ a thousand times,
in a million different tiny gestures,
of which, I am proud
she exhales a breath elongated,
a release of an admixture of differing
pleasures released, and goes into the
night to dance in the arms of strangers,
which concerns me
not at all,
after all,
these many years,
aware she moves exquisitely
in a dance that demands years
of practice, for it requires
intangible silent of the merest
slight finger pressures to guide
the dancer what next steps
are coy coming,
and I have stolen this
knot of knowledge,
for mine own purposes,
secretly & selfishly,
employing these techniques,
for most of the time we’ve
been together
this poem of
tuna fish sandwiches,
becomes a dance of words
which is
my specialty, which she will
read in the morning l, maybe,
if I send it to her,
though obviously,
that is unnecessary 😉
as she returns to our bed,
me asleeping, she,
exhaustingly satisfied,
sleeeps deeper
secured by the knowing
that we, are both,
the beneficiaries of:
my learned dancing
practices
for such is
the ways of the poet!
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 10:39 AM UTC
Suspended high above the canopy
I swear that I can view a very slight
curvature of the Earth in my mind
Vigorous prep for safety purposes
I stable myself to fly if but only
for a moment in time to feel free
The ZIP LINE carries me over the
jungle-like tree line with speed
while I twist & turn semi controlled
I close my eyes briefly to understand
the sensation of flight with my hands
out to represent the superman appeal.
The breaking system tripped and I
arrive safely with a jolt and the nest
sky canopy ever is experienced.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
I woke up at six
Feeling nauseous and sick
Didn't like moving
As if the bed is embracing
But I had to rise
To cook food and eat rice
Prep for work and revitalize
Practice smiling and be nice
Wake up little sunshine
Make your dream beam with lines
Get up and realize
The goal you have in mind
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
Darkness has pressed up against our lattice windows. Classes start again in the morning. I’m being reabsorbed by college life. I’m a planner. I’ve been going over my syllabuses, repacking my bookbag, charging my power banks, checking and rechecking the assignments due tomorrow. After watching me prep for hours, Peter said, “You’re not going to the MOON.”
Peter asked me last Friday, “Are you excited for Monday? (I’ll find out if I get my fellowship.)
“I’m more excited about tonight,” I said, “I like going out on the town.”
“Wow,” he said, “you’re so different - not like the other girls at all.”
“No!” I said, laughing, “We’re stuck in a rut, we only go to one or two places, ever - if we go out at all. When people come to New Haven, I need places to take them - places besides pizza. At home, in Athens (Ga), I know twenty places - this is RESEARCH.” I assured him.
Peter settled back into his doctorate-fraternity-house yesterday. Tonight (Sunday), there’s music in the suite, the crazy noises of people and the comfort of returned friends. All the roommates are back, greeted with hugs and kisses, as they dragged in their luggage.
Lisa arrived with dinner, for 10, from Dominick's, in Manhattan. Spaghetti, salads, rolls, extra sauce - in six, small, suitcase-sized insulated bags. It was a logistical marvel. It’s only 90 minutes from Manhattan to the residence - we didn’t need to rewarm anything. “I KNOW we could have just eaten in the dining hall,” she said, shrugging, “call it zany - one last hurrah.”
Everyone seemed happy to be back. There were travel stories, questions, and laughter. Oh, and Zeppole, little powdered sugar custard desserts that seemed the worst for travel. Everyone seemed to have an eye on the clock though. By 11pm the suite was quiet. Très unusual.
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 1:42 AM UTC