"quad" poems
daily grind
sleep of mine
five hours small
so short so tall.
monotone, polite,
bubbly, smite.
"you always give him crap"
redhead hiatus.
Charlotte?
"What the hell?"
******** try to steal your show.
Jesus Christ;
these are the days I cherish
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 12:36 PM UTC
A Trochee Christmas and its Several Interchangeable Anapests
Brought to You in Some Desperation
By Your Local Chamber of Commerce
(Second Trailer Past the Stoplight)
Christmas in the Park
Christmas on the Main
Christmas on the Lake
Christmas on the Strand
Christmas on the Square
Christmas on the Farm
Christmas on the Beach
Christmas on the Mall
Christmas in the Mall
Christmas on the Block
Christmas on the Coast
Christmas on the Gulf
Christmas on the Hill
Christmas in the Keys
Christmas on the Quay
Christmas on the Quad
Christmas on the Range
Christmas on the Ranch
Christmas in the Vale
And this year, Christmas at the 'Gras!
But no Christmas without anapests, ‘kay?
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
The sea cast a gift ashore
one stormy sullen day
and the barren rocky coast
was suddenly recast
as a natural history museum.
A whale.
A real whale, just lying there
shining on the shale
In another time,
we'd have known how to react.
This astonishing bounty
would have been quickly stripped
Bones for building
baleen for support
blubber and oil for fuel.
But now it lay
surrounded by detritus
made of better stuff.
The truth was,
we didn't really need it,
couldn't really use it,
like being presented with
Casablanca on VHS.
A sign appeared:
"Quad bike rides, £2",
red paint on rainsoaked cardboard.
I wasn't tempted.
Children poked it with sticks
in a desultory way,
stricken, intrigued, ashamed,
and utterly dwarfed.
The weeks passed
as we coughed in embarrassment
not knowing what to do,
until finally
someone brought a digger down
and discretely buried the beast.
By now, it will be a perfect skeleton
a prehistoric wonder
an artefact from unjaded days
when nature could still astonish,
trampled by unknowing tourists
as they dream of sunnier beaches.
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 3:06 PM UTC
Sitting out on the fresh green grass awakens something inside me.
The dampness of the ground slowly seeping through my blue jeans, the fresh aroma telling me that although the grass was freshly cut, it lives, breathes, and grows
Around me are ancient buildings, housing thousands of students, whose minds are alive—or, to be honest, are most likely half asleep
The mountains stand softly in the background, somehow still partially snow capped.
They form a security blanket, sad when we leave, but welcoming as we come back
And the sky—the brilliant blue majesty above—somehow envelopes all of this, as if it somehow knows each one of us
It holds the billowing white clouds that shape shift into almost anything my vagabond heart desires
The birds flying high in the sky talk with a sort of excitement, and fly away in a hurry
There is a hustle and bustle—people talking, airplanes flying, cars driving—that remind me I’m not alone
And you know what I taste?
Freedom
The freedom that allows me to be whatever and whoever I want to be.
It beckons me to explore every land and swim in every sea.
It shows me who I truly love and who I desire to become
This magical place—has allowed me to find me.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Hello
this is a short message
written this Sunday morning
on March the first
the rain keeps coming from the west
non-stop for two days
risk of flooding
government says.
I miss you - had another dream
driving in sunshine.
It's the sun I miss
mostly - and then of course
there is your friendship
to treasure and to hold.
I hope you're having fun
on your quad.
They say four wheels
are better than two
I'm not so sure
how could you
have Zen and the art of
quad biking -
impossible?
I see you have given in
to peer pressure or whatever
and made your modest entry
in the ******** book
I had a quick look.
It looks
OK.
Now I suppose Twitter
and MySpace
where you can compose
even wittier
sayings.
You're a true master
of Wisdom
with a capital W
But it is not that
you struggle to say something
wise
it comes spontaneously
best when blurted out
immediate response
like:
"they throw babies in dumpsters
in your country too, Janet?"
She'd never forgotten it
as it
was such a strange and powerful thing to say
by the way
I googled your name
and you have loads of coverage
mostly under AHEC and Best.
This is just a few short lines
to say you are on my mind
and in my heart
as always
yours
me.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
No sense for the senseless
Brains for the brain eaters
schools, business, multi media
Mosquitoes with cyber eyes
spreading dull life and exciting lies
Broken records misdefined,
CD’s, USB, mp3
all wasted on nothing real
Color splash, purposeful mismatch
Pop a quad stack down the hatch
quick *** quick cash
no point to living
live life fast
Senseless
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
This morning’s light seemed to blink on,
suddenly, like an urgent message.
It painted the lone, brittle cloud, racing somewhere
warmer, a shocking school-bus yellow.
There’s a -30 degree wind-chill this morning,
my coffee seemed hotter and more comforting.
I usually keep my windows cracked at night
but this air feels aggressive and sharp as a knife.
The quad, usually bustling on weekend mornings,
is empty and the few cars I see are smoking like old steam trains.
I was dreaming of sweets and of walking to “Donut Crazy,”
but that actually would be crazy, if not suicidal.
“Ooo!” I say after digging through the kitchen cupboards, “we have pop-tarts!”
Feb 8, 2023
Feb 8, 2023 at 12:31 PM UTC
The wind blew,
Monster Frog Rock sat high and dry
Baring his soft white underbelly
Where Old One-eye Bob the Bass
Napped on summer afternoons
Back when the cities did not drink so much water.
The wind blew,
A flock of four fowl dived
And herded dragon-flies to
Where the trout out jumped the carp
For the sapphire quad-winged engineering miracles.
All in all, a great day fishing at Lake Morena.
The trout chose dragon-flies over
Walmart eerie-descent Power Bait.
No loss, over all, a net gain.
No bait spent for nothing,
No time wasted,
No hope lost.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
by Arcssin Burnham
Locked in chains full of dangers,
hold my hands lord,
pulling me further and further away
from my original destination,
what's with a these different strangers,
life can also record,
all the things you gave and took away,
weather the source of damnation,
I can't imagine life without beauty,
scratch and then patched,
something anyone wouldn't want to
bother with,
when it comes to judgment,
my sincerest apologies truly,
don't want to get too attached,
with a dose of salt and a quad of spit,
in the air..... I'm suspended.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
In the window of the pet shop
four small faces, lost.
Their owners, sick with worry,
want them found at any cost.
A quad of treasured family pets
roaming wild and free,
unmindful of the panic
they’re causing back in Leigh.
A sausage dog called Mini,
sleek and burnished dark.
She’s likely got a little voice
that is more squeak than bark.
Tinks: a sturdy Staffie,
with a plea on Facebook
praying for his safe return
his people beg you “have a look”
“in your sheds and garages,
or in the kids' playhouse.
You never know who could be there
‘cos he’s quiet as a mouse”.
A grumpy Border Terrier,
Underbitten, rough of coat
“Bill: a much loved dog, we miss him”
in shaky letters wrote.
And, last of all, would you believe
Someone’s lost their tortoise!
He’s been in the family since ‘77
(let’s hope he isn’t corpus).
For pets are no mere mortals,
nor fallible as we.
They’re up there on a pedestal,
in anthropomorphic fantasy.
Then one day they disappear,
our soppy hearts turn wretched.
No stick to throw, and if we did
none to go and fetch it.
On centre stage of family life
entangled in our tribe.
No separateness of species,
always by our side.
So if you’re there, or round about
And you should chance to see
Mini, Tinks or Billy
or a tortoise in his mid-thirties.
Tell the little pet shop -
it’s better late than never -
to mend an aching, wretched heart
who thought their best friend gone forever.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
ive met love three times
the first time i met love,
i was in 8th grade
and i was 13 years old
and love used to stare at me from across the quad and
try and find me after school to attempt to kiss me goodbye
"until tomorrow, my dear"
i didnt know how i felt towards love at the time
and i was 13 years old and didnt know what to do
with the budding feelings i was growing
so i tried to push love away at first
but he wasnt going anywhere
love cared for me
and love made of my heart a home
a year and 1 month goes by and
i stepped on my love's heart
it was the dumbest thing i could have ever done
it was all my fault my first love left
2 days ago my love returned
ive been so hopeful something might happen
maybe tonight we will meet in that coffee shop [see below]
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
Joanne told me they would be clapped out.
Radio Luxembourg wouldn't play them.
No Glam you see,
frayed collars, Bar room Blues.
But I'm still into Bees make Honey.
Pawned my Zenith Quad-8 for a Seiko LCD Quartz.
Memorised Ashai Pentax's Reason #44.
Still have the hots for Marisa Berenson's knees.
No censure.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
blushes
tips, brushes and spills and the willingness of physics
dip the quill
blending a full face of colours trippy
tipping my crown, my head,
my thinker becomes creation winning
inks
i wink faithfully lacy into the universe pirouettes and eddies
tinkering
i divide myself couple and quad and oct..
flood my breeding into the cosmos
spoon-feeding peddling out into the mutter
the great relax of the creative meddle
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 8:21 PM UTC
Snowflakes
I wonder if the snowflakes,
flying around the quad
are searching like I do
I wonder if inside of each one
is a little beating heart
aching for something more
I wonder if they look
around and see one
another and think, How Beautiful.
I wonder if they know
they can not even control
where they are going
or where they land
I wonder if the snowflakes
regret the shadows in their past
their days among the clouds
I wonder if the snowflakes
on the ground look
up in envy
of those in flight
or do they merely look
around and say,
I’ll never fly like they do
I wonder if they know
how much suffering they
cause with their frigid fingers
or how much joy they
bring to those
with hearts like children
I wonder if each one
desponds, surrounded
by many like it
or rejoices in the
effect the one can have
when entwined with the many
I wonder how the snow
feels as it slowly
disappears
Do they fade in peace
or overwhelmed by
the fiery flames of 32
do they burn in anguish?
Oh snowflakes, never
leave
me.
You make me wonder,
and to wonder
is a beautiful thing.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
Most moments in our lives pass unnoticed, without remark or consciousness.
Then, there are those that mean something, or that we choose to mean something,
that become a placeholder for our lives, to add meaning, understanding, passage
a demarcation that bestows significance
My daughter graduated, under rainy skies and cool breezes.
The white tents in the grass flapped empty and lonely like a cancelled wedding
We sat in a loud gymnasium rather than in the grass quad surrounded by trees
I was there with a thousand other proud parents;
I circled her name in the program. I waited for the moment when it was to be called; being
slightly afraid I'd miss it
And I whistled and yelled, but I don't think quite enough. I didn't seem to mark the moment.
It was a moment, and I knew it, expected it, wanted it to be.
so badly.
Bittersweet. I like that word, it explains life so well.
I like the idea of bittersweet and I wanted to have it envelope me that day.
I tried to hold on to it. Like a good dream that comes too late in the morning and wont be prolonged quite far enough
I wanted to hold on, to understand what it meant. I knew it meant so much,
or, at least, I wanted it too.
I held on to understand what this meant to her.
I held on to remember my own graduation and the dream I then only fainty realized I had just experienced in my four years of college
I held on because I know her next steps take her further away.
I held on to feel what she felt in the mixture of joy, relief, sadness, confusion;
all that goes with parting from friends who alone know the exerience you shared.
I held on to make sense of my life. Making sense of moments makes them meaningful.
I want life to be meaningful
I wish I would have written something that evening. In the full emotion of the day.
I thought about it.
And now, like that dream, it is fading into morning light. I can't remember all that was, or seemed to be, profound and important as I watched my daughter those two days.
I want it to mean something enduring, symbolic and permanent.
I want my life to be important, to reflect a famous quote from someone, to be in granite.
Not so everyone will know it mattered, just so that I will.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
a tiny woman
has hips
with a thousand mouths to feed.
her little feet
are
acetylane-based
and her philosophy
is
a
by-product
of a lack of faith.
"It's going to be a good night, for a little while,
but let's not spoil a night
by thinking about it,"
her hips
say
to your fingers.
The thousand tongues
lap at your fingerprints.
Her tongues
make rollers
of passion,
and bury love
deep beneath the ruined sand
of a nimbus-warped beach
blackened by pain,
x-rayed by fingernails of lightning.
She makes you think
of such a beach.
The tiny woman
wraps her long, lean
arms
around your tiny
hairless neck.
Her breath singes
your uncovered Adam's apple.
Little man,
she calls you,
this old cougar
with rat teeth
and **** eyes.
"Little man,"
she says,
"I know how men
get down these days,"
Her body is verve,
electric skin
and loose, vibrating fabric.
Her legs are muscle
only,
as tight as a horse's quad,
you can see all the veins
and their tributaries
in her thighs,
and how they wiggle
against olive muscle.
"Little man,"
she says,
beer like a Titan
on her breath,
"I'm hungry."
And you are too,
and she will lead you,
holding your arm
by the drunken,
half-holding,
half-forgotten
vice
of her fingers
and you and her
will eat at Waffle House.
At 2 a.m.
She will dry out,
and become salty.
You will dry out and finally be hungry.
Eat,
Little Man,
she thinks,
because you're walking home
tonight.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 1:10 AM UTC
I've learned you're good at poker, but you're no player,
this, the second time I've seen you; sizing you up, I like you.
Competent, aware, smart, unassuming. You're fit, tanned; obvious you take care of yourself.
Don't spend too long in these smoky sunless rooms fishing for money,
sitting for hours with pale coughing gamblers and their deceptively friendly banter.
There is only one other woman, her arm inked with a script tattoo Bad Jamie
One guy asks just how bad are you?
She replies, I'm so bad I drink milk straight from the carton, and the table chuckles.
But all joking aside, you're the chip leader and I'm only interested in you.
I raised from the Big Blind, I'm serious with pocket Aces, and everyone else folded.
You on the little blind stayed in; you could have anything, with a practically free ante.
I don't know why you've stayed even this long;
something tells me you want to see what I have.
The flop comes and the table tries to contain a collective gasp, three 8 s roll out.
All the potential of infinity between us,
and I'm holding Wild Bill Hickock's dead man's hand, black with bad luck.
Wow, how to manage this.
I've had no success of anyone staying with me before.
If I slow play it, hiding my cards close to my chest and check it down to the river,
he would fold at any hint of what I have,
and I’d be left just wishing with nothing in the ***
If I come on strong, and he thinks he didn't catch anything or he's not even drawn to the river;
he would fold,
and I’d be left just wishing with nothing in the ***
I study you, ascertaining me
with a look on your face like you just may have found something good.
So I do something totally unexpected, just say the truth outright
I've got a house full of dealbreakers.
You're looking at me as if no one else is in the room, and with a smile in your eyes you say
Lets not call them Deal Breakers, lets call them Deal Makers.
...... and I'm All In,
You call, but then ask *chop the *** be equals?* revealing
once-in-my-life quad eights, all that infinity in your hands, and the Queen of Hearts.
You say, hey, lets go... and as we're walking out into unspoiled sunshine,
you reach into your pocket, show me a few sparkling diamonds in your palm and ask,
you want these?
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
I live my life
in the shadows,
the disconnected hours,
observing all I see.
I've learned to hide,
bide my time,
while time keeps passing all around me,
this set in
not today or yesterday,
but somewhere else along the way.
Eventually
that which protects us
defeats us in the end,
I become the naked dreamer
quaking
in the quad,
it all begins to strangle me.
Nature,
Open skies
open air,
this room
this mind
a suffocating refrain,
one wonders how it became this way.
I live my life in the shadows,
the invisible man for all to see,
take off my clothes,
shed my ego,
there is nothing left of me,
but this sacred breath,
these words that make no sense,
I'm the one that you don't see,
but I see you all around me.
I'm singing the Poet's lament,
the whispering voice,
you hear it in the shadows,
the figure passing by
out of the corner of your eye,
the one you can't quite grasp.
I live my life from the shadows,
the light is on the other side,
One of these days,
the dawn will call my name.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
The snow melts to reveal sad assortments of garbage
Strewn along the sidewalks like a ***** bricolage
The geese occupy our emptying quad
Each is a blessed sign from your god
The early bird rises far before the dawn
Bragging in bird-tongue about his perfect lawn
Global warming shows its ugly face
And the weather becomes a temperamental disgrace
Moving trucks and vans headed toward the interchange
Each summer my peers look forward to happy change
To work or not to work, that is the question
But often work is more than just a suggestion
April is the time of transitions
The time of decisions
Move from brain to body
From student to entry-level nobody
It’s nice work if you can get it
But every year I forget it
Wait until the last minute
Get hired just in time to quit
Exams and singing
Farewells and resume printing
Interviews and bargaining
All these things remind me of spring
Longing glances across the fluorescent lights of the store
I long with everything I have for him to cross the floor
Every year we interact but nothing more
But every year I hope the power goes out so I can be his *****
Well, roll up your sleeves
It’s time to produce!
Five months away from the tuition-grabbing thieves
So there’s absolutely no excuse!
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
*Brilliance is an achievable recognition.
Quad cores, of the brain processing,
Relevant understandings,
Breathing with good intentions,
And at the same time,
Being the person, of who you are.
Sometimes we find ourselves,
Down a road, with additional baggage,
And hours of not wanting to feel hurt again.
We realize why we fell.
And how to avoid that type of fall again.
That is, until all falls are counted for.
Greatness,
Is when,
In a given moment,
Your crafts alter time & destiny.
Leaving some type of brilliance,
In it's, clearing, edgy smoke.
Who we become emerges through sight,
& the next journey, was the answer.*
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
(A castaway on Linen Island)
I have concerns
I may be quad-polar,
at least that’s what
it feels like yesterday
while I was thinking
about tomorrow
which turned out
to be today.
I'm just trying to
keep it all together
out here, lost at sea,
a castaway
on Linen Island.
Its strange here with
my head above the clouds.
Piles of books
floating all around me,
stacks upon stacks
as far as the eye can see,
I see a sea of books
that hold a billion
trillion words,
none of which
quench my thirst,
its the irony of the sea,
to be surrounded by
that which cannot
sustain.
I’ve been cast off the grid
in uncharted waters,
lost in Book Sea,
I rest my head on
the clouds in confusion.
This quadrant
is kicking my ***
and all I want to do
is sleep but its difficult
to sleep when there's a
thirst that needs
quenching.
I wonder if reverse osmosis
is something I can create
with the power of my mind
to make this sea less lethal?
Or maybe a little bump
into quadrant 3 or 4
but who am I kidding,
a little bump
is never a little bump,
and the next quadrant
is most likely
unexplored universe
where if I scream
it wont be heard.
I'd settle for
a little sleep right now,
with hopes of gaining
strength to fight
the wars I wanted back.
Bump me just enough
to visit Dreamland,
but not enough
to go to Hell,
let me rest my head upon
these puffy white clouds,
and sleep.
maybe sleep will fix it all
maybe sleep will not
I’m stuck on Linen Island
a castaway off the grid
somewhere in the Book Sea
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
What horrible emotion will I feel?
Anger--I'm being accused of doing something
I'm not doing, never intended to do.
was trying to do the exact opposite of,
and have been identified as a saboteur...
inspiring students to take hard classes
my students wanted to strive but were
turned back...I had committed a crime
Jealousy, my X boss, now at last
walking with the new English department diva
a woman, as spicy as white bread
as electrifying as a jello mold and they walk
along so contentedly, old friends down a tree lined path
through the quad and the blistering sun
and I've been raged at for making a joke about meetings,
a reference to a "Annie Hall" where Hollywood types have meetings for the sake
of more meetings and there is an end note: he gives good meeting
which is the goal...a mobius strip of meetings...around and around we go
treading the meeting notes like water filled with little packing crate styrofoam
making the noise of important work, the movement of it,
but in the end, creating nothing
and...now it's over and what will life be like without this dread
I feel like I can read five books in a day, run twenty miles and
cook a three course vegan meal for five and it would be less stress than
what I've just emerged from.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
imagine if VCIS had escalators instead of hard stair cases
and water slides in each sides
just to keep our entertainment level high
imagine our classrooms with movie screens
instead of those pale whiteboards
where you can watch the math problems
as the ****** in this movie
while you enjoy the lessons
chomping some barbecue popcorns
imagine our canteen
as a 5 star Gorden Ramsy's
and our library with a super secret spy base
behind one of those 8 bookshelves
and our tiny comfort rooms with disco *****
so we can shake a bit while we release some bits
and our quad floor as the Pacific Ocean
because why not
imagine Koby Bryant standing in our Lakers ground
just to make our school look cool
imagine our school as a mental hospital
or a even a county called
"International Christian Republic of Victory"
for we have our own flag and an anthem to sing
imagine every extremes you had ever imagine
but once these imaginations step in the border of wishing
to change our school
VCIS will never be the same
because I like our school the way it is
it is imperfectly perfect
each of the classrooms have different crayons of personalities
where everyone fills the color of this huge painting
our windows are sealed with iron bars and covered with egg trays
but no great movies can be fun as this movie with best friends
and the those grade school students running every morning
as if I was chasing them on a 13th Friday
but they are happiest human beings I know
and even though our campus may be smaller than others
and even though there are some cracks in the edges
and even though I eat fried chicken with ketchup every single lunch
I will remember VCIS forever for that.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
i.
you're lazy
and no one knows why
but there is still no one else
who can make me
laugh as hard
as you do
ii.
we met on accident
and you proved the unimaginable for me
oh what i wouldn't do to save you
iii.
i've never cried for a friend
as much as i have for you
you are so lovely
and i wish you were still here
iv.
i think you're the first typical best friend
i've ever had
everything
will be an adventure with you
v.
i once said
you put me in a phase
and you still do
thank you
for letting me think that you care
vi.
i love all your musical similes and metaphors
you're the only one i know who does that
you are really such a beautiful person
please don't ever change
vii.
we don't really talk as much
but you'll never know how happy it makes me
when you still get excited when we meet
i really hope you're doing okay
viii.
you really crack me up
when you tell me your future plans
about being a stripper
you are so much better than you think you are
ix.
you are so far away
but im still looking forward to the day
you open that restaurant
and watching criminal minds with you
x.
i don't really consider you a friend
but thanks anyway
xi.
i'll never forget when you just sat with me
in the middle of the quad
with my ice cream
and we talked and laughed about nothing
and everyone was looking at us
because there were empty tables around us
but we sat on the floor instead
xii.
i saved you for last
because i honestly don't know what to say
other than
you mean everything
your head isn't in the right place
but then again thats just me
because i think so highly of you
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
There were disappointed faces
on the students in the quad
The professor’s classes cancelled-
illness had struck their mortal god.
A literary lion, A scholar
world renowned.
Pneumonia, favoring old men,
was the disease that took him down.
The Professor got the best of care
and had a private room.
His favorites brought him roses
to brighten up the gloom.
He was in an out of consciousness,
oblivious to fading blooms.
His true friends
were dead poets
and he imagined them about:
Blake, with his wild head of hair;
Bill Shakespeare’s pate without,
Byron, dripping from the Hellespont,
and Dylan Thomas chugging stout.
His breath was shallow, rasping
His heart would skip a beat
His mind would wander mercifully
back to when the past was sweet.
He recalled playing the Wolf
with a beauty named Naomi.
Had she ever thought him handsome?
Had he come across as phony?
The monitor went flat line then
They would save him, never fear.
Naomi's accusations were still
ringing in his ears.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC