"promotions" poems
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Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
Warning:
The seagull flying over the Appalachians
could not possibly be amused by the
puzzles of an illegitimate composer
and the skyscrapers climbed.
1.
The skyscrapers were played by tall
rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't
remember if the cape she wore was
made from steel or newspaper.
11.
The newspaper they all read together
that morning (girl, boy, king, etc)
promised nothing but a fifty percent
chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop.
2.
The bus stop had since become a
dealer corner and the sunset behind
the mountains was blocked by the
flipping hair of a lost boy.
7.
The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had
a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a
whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung
over the four dollar love seat.
6.
The love seat, she bought the day he went
to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken,
but she couldn't find anything new (that she
knew) to wash her hands with.
5.
The hands that handed her a hammer were covered
in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when
they were watching the scarecrow going
through electric-shock, disco therapy.
8.
The therapy that she received from the
parrot-king and his troupe of square roots
was enough to make her not forget not regret
the boy with feathers in his ears.
10.
The ears she woke up with one morning
were different in shape than before
and the black fur she knew
was growing before her eyes.
3.
The eyes of the boy were wider than
the nightly news station promised, and
there wasn't really a difference
between caves and boxes in a town that small.
4.
The town she arrived in didn't have
a carpool lane or derby, so
she had to take her pet goldfish
to the river for his depressive state.
9.
The river wasn't as flooded after a couple
weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox
she found way before the departure
of her white gold pearls.
12.
The pearls she wore for her
coming-of-age were buried beneath
a dirt mound when she promised herself
to always insist on herself.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 10:49 AM UTC
It was in total a fast track ticket to the moon
and I can't return to transaction dock 8 too soon
the star checkout lane at my local supermarket
tops balloons with rocket science aeronautics
that pilot's service areas binary counter perfect
exceeding expectations bent into global orbit
My items sped along to muzak her slim milky way belt
a smile beaming discount countdowns heaven sent
taking off in bit lips when her priceless item buttons
almost burst free to air with a strain of special promotions
helpfully assisting my every excess flight of fancy
made impulse buys a baggage allowance necessity
She stroked parts of her radical laser station
to fully engage hygienic wiped spills of imagination
and I felt the warp of hyperdrive tangelo engines
urging me into a dive to scan juice ripe tangerines
a last minute save fuelled by stalling flashback cavities
gyrating in tight nets as we escaped earth's gravity
With a twist of her wrist I was into fits-the-bill ecstasy
as the whirr of electronics cut loose such quality
with a lick of an index finger our mission was bagged
handled too efficiently for any danger of jet lag
no flyby chance to not exchange standby coupons
my trolley emptied of offers too galactic to pass on
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
While the sun is sleeping and the morning dj's too,
The radio news anchor is in to work by three
It's not because we're busy, or we're special..no, no , no
It's because the station trusts us, and besides...we have the key!!
We're on the road, at Dunkin' Donuts,
while the day olds are still fresh
We're in before the DJ's
Because we don't live like Phil Lesh
By the time the DJ's wander in
We've read more, than they will say
We've even cued up the morning intro
We know the songs they all will play
We have our room for research
Actually, two newspapers and a phone
We're not quite Walter Cronkite
But, hey...throw us a bone
The life of a radio anchor
Is not one that's all rosy
We do it 'cause we love it
It's not just because we're nosy
We get the freshest donuts, hottest coffee and the key
And did I neglect to mention, first one in gets donuts free?
The DJ's do their concerts, party hard, are full of soul
And twice a week you'll find them, down at Skippy's Pool and Bowl
We're not all like Les Nessman
Although, there is a part of me
That would love to have a station
Like old W K R P
The life of the news anchor
Starts out daily in the dark
We dig around for stories
And make up others for a lark
We are in line for more promotions
We're the one that the boss sees
Did I mention, we get donuts
And that the boss gives us the key?
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
New birthdays new babi es
Marriages are graduations:
Promotions for bachelors & bacheloerettes
A new morning gone
I'm moving on, I'm moving on
A death, a crash, a disease
Goodbye Sparky, goodbye
Births followed by deaths followed by
Commercial breaks, cups of coffee and
back to more happy, happy
birthdays.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
Red, and it's my best colour
My favourite mood
Smooth with lust and passion
But remember to take time
Recluse and resign
In crimson divine
Rest your body
And your mind
Teach your soul new things
Retreat to your sweet tooth
With sister shades of beetroot
Magic promotions of your moon-tide
Emotion hurling joyride
Relax as your muscles un-hide
Find your knots and dots
And plot as you breathe the outside
Paint yourself in feelings of taboo
Slip sleepy into daydreams
Ego embrace as you create
A silhouette that forgets she is you
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 9:04 AM UTC
A solider walked into town
As the sun sank down
Into the deep blue of the ocean
There was a charge of emotion
That you could almost see in the air
As all of the villagers stared
It had been twenty long years
But those who remembered, remembered their fears
From that long and terrible night
When the rebels fought a ****** fight
And this man led the opposition
Who made the decision
To **** all who were involved
Before rebellion spread and evolved
It was a foot note in imperial history
And the commander was a mystery
After the promotions, he suddenly retired
Unable to comprehend what had transpired
Now after twenty years he had returned
Older, wiser, and more learned
He went to each family and begged for forgiveness
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
scooting around the supermarket aisles at pace
sifting and sorting through the cut price items bin
selecting a favorite brand of bacon rasher
stopping at the lolly counter to price a bag of sherbet
squealing children throwing a tantrum near the drinks machine
searching in my handbag for my wallet
store promotions blaring over the public address system
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:46 AM UTC
Sulking blocks of concrete boxes
miles of live wire, chrome cheeks, cityscape
glass, promotions, ticker tape,
canal rides, McRibs, sour cabs
human losses.
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 3:19 AM UTC
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Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
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Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
**please don't go,
i need you like an april flower needs carbon dioxide and other things to grow,
i need you like a tongue needs h2O in order to speak, and for the words and songs to flow,
i need you like an artist needs colours to paint his or her emotions,
i need you like, a busy man, who works everyday and needs his promotions,
i need you like a soulful poet needs metaphors, to express their lovely words,
oh i need you like the moon needs the sun, in order to shine so beautifully in the night,
don't you see that i love you?
i know we had a really big fight,
but darling i don't care i need you alright?
you're my stars in the night,
you're my everything, you're such a delight.**
i need you too.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
Tony
was an attorney,
torn between his morals.
He could close cases cleanly,
no matter
the quarrel.
But his impeccable
character
creates a dilemma;
Tony always noticed,
as he sat down for dinner,
defeat,
nepotism,
ignorance abound.
Astounded that injustice
was easily found.
As label managers
drugged
and *****
judges
excused it,
by calling it
fate.
Men lording it over
with promotions in their pants,
while Trump's on TV,
with his bigoted rants.
Tony feared
for the future,
mutual destruction was near.
In fact it's
probably probable
it happens this year.
He wanted
to vent pent up feelings,
so he
refused the judge's
shady dealings.
He lost cases
but not cause,
won activist's applause.
For the rights of the ignored,
he'd draw attention to the laws,
that were
unfair or
unjust.
With his heart and his soul,
Tony
won our
trust.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 3:34 PM UTC
I heard someone utter the words,
"Sober is just another word for thirsty."
And I did not believe her.
Until my throat started itching,
the moment I stopped the stitching
of molecules that altered me,
turned me around,
I had been treading backwards.
My body ached with vacancy,
my hands trembled with an appetite
that played the part of
of my hands on the wheel.
It is an agonizing contradiction,
to be weighed down by nothing,
every drop that plunged into my mouth,
every plume that escaped
the narrow path to my lungs
was a nail in my soles,
keeping me firm to the ground,
I became stagnant,
only dipping under the influence
to ask for what I thought
was needed assistance.
My temporarily
stainless bloodstream
bred venomous ideas
while the darkest parts of me quivered
with insatiable hunger,
and made a show of it
with my fluttering fingertips.
I had dreamt
on nearly every day of the week
with my eyes open,
of clawing my out of this
canyon of flesh
I had been trapped inside of,
the echoes of an empty heart
were enough
to keep me awake for days,
witnessing a continuum,
of sunset,
sunrise,
sunset,
sunrise,
yet the sky never brightened.
The darkness was addictive,
I became a ****** for the murky,
and I have been buried.
Underneath habits
that stifle me.
Smoke that leaves my lungs
no room
for new air.
There is an invisible layer
of soot
caked onto my skin
falling from my nights spent
drunk and unaware
of which direction
I was growing.
My odometer
slowly screams
for me to stop,
to reverse,
begin again.
My shower head works hard.
It tries to bathe me in rebirth.
The shampoo bottle whispers
with its shape,
asks me to sing again.
Why did I stop singing?
Because I no longer enjoyed the sound of my voice.
I stopped believing in it.
Drenched in half truths
and uncut delusions,
my tongue was poison.
I had denied the beautiful methods
of me.
And employed the ugly.
I gave a managerial promotions
to the mean
the spitting mad
and the angry
slices of my heart.
But I will dig through
these concrete slabs
of toxic routines.
And I will take back my beauty
and revive my love.
And become who I am,
climbing out of who I have been.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
A girl will stand on the edge of the
Brooklyn Bridge at 7pm,
The water will stare back
at her
as the cars will glide past her,
(the rejection of her resume meant nothing
in comparison to the rejection from her lover.)
A man sits in the car in his garage
a capsule in his hand
and a gas leak in the trunk.
(no amount of promotions
which earnt him that car
could keep him afloat
as tax collectors harass his neighbors
for a tax return they are not going to
recieve.)
A woman will stand on a 2ft high
stool,
a rope in her hands
and a letter on the bed.
(the unborn child she caressed with alcohol
poisoning lingers in her mind
as she cannot bear the thought
of telling her husband that she loved whiskey
more than she did him.)
A boy will reside
in his fathers study,
his favourite book rested on the desk
and a gun in his hand.
(it never really was quite the same
after he left.)
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 9:56 AM UTC