"raffle" poems
I don’t care,
That you don’t care,
About caring about
What I care for.
And you know what?
I don’t care that
You won’t care for
the only thing that I really
care for.
What if I care about
cake? Would you not
care about cake?
Would you not care
ABOUT CAKE?
You care about cake, of course you do.
I can see it in your eyes and by
that tell tale dribble at your mouth.
Cake is something that will
make your legs quake with
butter cream goodness.
A good cake baked,
makes you proud to be
a cake baking citizen in
a country that will let you
bake cake.
So what if I care about
democracy. Would you not
care about democracy?
Would you let people live
in fear of the **** of a gun,
Would you care that there
are those who are on the run
from tyranny and violence
who know pain and loss,
that you could only
wake up from,
in a cold sweat?
As you turn and toss
in your memory foam bed.
There is more happening on this Earth
Then cake.
There are greater causes
than choosing between
Thortons Double Chocolate Celebration
and that traditional Victoria Sponge your
Mother-in-law won in a raffle last week.
The struggle humanity faces, is to live
in harmony with each other.
It cannot be resolved with cake.
You cannot bring democracy
to a country with cake.
Or can we?
What if we swapped,
Non radar detectable aircraft
For dairy delectable foodcraft,
What if we swapped
12inch shells for
12 thousand babybels?
What if we stole
RPGs and gave back
MSG’s (they’re less harmful
in the long run, if thrown at you).
What if, for once, everyone cared.
And then we’d get somewhere.
Every voice in every home
Would not be a voice alone,
And for once, we’d all agree about the fact
we like cake and democracy for all.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 8:19 AM UTC
As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.
And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
"Love has no ending.
"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,
"I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
"The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.
"Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.
"O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.
"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.
"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.
"O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.
"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart."
It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
9.4k
I can't believe I bought them.
Is this the top scoop?
I've entered a raffle for
pea & ham soup.
I can't even eat it,
I'm vegetarian you see.
Won't you just change it to
tomato for me?
I don't mind the peas,
It's the ham that's no good.
They slaughter those piggies
screaming, covered in blood.
Eyes bulging, their throats cut.
It's really not nice.
There's so much more to choose from,
not just cakes made of rice.
Have you seen how they nugget,
crispy goujons and breast?
They've found faeces and gristle
in a food safety test.
So don't think that these people
have your interests at best.
Look it up, do your research
and I'll give it a rest!
Poetry by Kaydee.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
139
Soul, Wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost indeed—
But tens have won an all—
Angel’s breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee—
Imps in eager Caucus
Raffle for my Soul!
3.5k
As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.
And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.
I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street.
I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry,
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.
The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or today.
'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.
'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare at the basin
And wonder what you've missed.
'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.
'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant in enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.
'O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.
'O stand, stand in the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbor
With your crooked heart.'
It was late, late in the evening
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
2.6k
Reanimate the dead air
But not with mindless banter
Blither blather
Comprised of
Contradicting compromises
Less is more
More or less
That's more like it
Your'e just a statistic
There's always room for improvement
Your'e only human
An ectomorph waving a white flag
A mesomorph crying "SOS"
And endomorph in the shallow end experiencing the ripple effect
It's a white world
White washed
Yup
You need a strategy
To win this raffle
So you can win a chance to rub elbows with the snobby upper crust busybodies-chatter boxes
It's win win
A win lose
In all its forthcoming splendor
Enhance your station
You spineless jellyfish
Taking your work home with you
Giving yourself scoliosis
Bending over backwards
Looking for something to depend on
A fallback anchor
You're in the hot spot
You cold sore
It's an inside job
You canker sore
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
Moses was Egyptian
Jesus was a jew
God came down from the mountaintop
said there's no difference between the two
Well parting of the red sea
Or was it a sea of reeds ?
Who flipping cares now
What is important is the fact of the deed
And Noah built a boat
Had a raffle giving away time shares
But interest was at record lows
Just showers and who really cares
So they crucified Jesus
Did they nail or rope him down there
Doesn't really matter
we left him dangling in the air
We have all heard of the Passover
But we celebrate "pass" with the beast
There is grit and grittle in the foundation of our hearts
Somehow we feel we are complete
So how God holds a special place
for such a hideous race
Even by God's Standards
that decision is hard to take
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
My dad lost his arm to cancer.
He was 61 years old,
did he let that get him down?
Heck NO...
The day he came home from the hospital
minus one shoulder and arm,
he jumped on his bike and rode
it down to our house,
which was a long block away.
balance, how did he do it?
Dad was always included in
all our neighborhood parties.
if he was sitting in my backyard,
he would be drinking a cup of coffee
with Jim, my husband.
If he was sitting in my neighbor Dennys backyard
he would be drinking a beer
with Denny.
Dad worked as a machine repairman
with out his arm for two more years.
Because he was good.
Dad bowled two times a week with one arm,
and he walked out at the Park
the days he didn't bowl.
My amazing dad, with one arm and no shoulder,
built my kitchen cupboards,
put up a ceiling in the basement,
build doll houses for my daughter
and the neighbor girl,
and also one for a church raffle.
My dad went to church every Sunday,
and when he was so ill,
the nun would visit dad and mom,
mom would play the *****
beer barrel polka,
while the nun and my dad danced.
He was known by many, taught kids
how to bowl, including my son.
AND HE IS MISSED BY ALL....
This is a tribute to my daddy
named Fritz....
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY...
by ~ judy
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
.
The
puppet awakened to...
martyrs-
selling raffle tickets
to the resurrection of
heaven-
as
the dawn
came crashing through
the trees...
and the moon hung lifeless
like a wet rag,
clipped to a frayed clothes line.
To
superstitious souls-
wearing antique flesh
like over sized overcoats;
and eternity mixing
with dew
and flow i n g
s l o w
l
y
into the holy river.
Who cut the puppet's strings?
.
Jan 22, 2010
Jan 22, 2010 at 3:59 PM UTC
If you could see the way she looks at you
you would know
But you're busy building walls of doubt
nursung weary what-ifs
like feeding gremlins after midnight
I have this picture of the both of you
You are staring off into your imagination
always just above the horizon
And she is laughing
at something you said
She is looking right at you
smiling honest
Only you can make her laugh like that
Only you
I guess some of us need it spelled out
Our egos need to be reminded
You are not always going to be her favorite everything
You are not the best
But for whatever reason she chose you
Chose you like a raffle ticket
from a barrel full of so much better
You are not a jackpot
she is not a jackpot
but you both have won something
You're both walking away with what you came here for
You break her heart some days
How her eyes sadden
and she does that thing that girls do
you know
when they go
awww but it's pronounced oohh
(Men love that sound)
I see the tremble in her arms
the hesitation to hold your head to her *******
But your signals cross
and you beat yourself up later
for not acting differently
because she might fall in love with you
if you had done things differently
You can't act your way into a relationship
If you're not being yourself
You're being somebody else
and in that case
she's better off with that other guy
It makes me wonder about lightbulbs
and how many people it takes to ***** them in
depending on your occupation
I wonder how many pairs of eyes it takes
to notice what love looks like
Because if you could see the way she looks at you
you would know
and the only thing you might do differently
is continue to be yourself
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
I remember the last time I went surfing.
I loved every second of it. I loved running out into the icy water, the chill taking a second to hit the vulnerable skin under my wetsuit. Those fleeting seconds of running ankle deep in the water before realizing how cold it is, and the moments following where I just kept running anyway, my body and board becoming dispersed in sea froth. I loved feeling my feet sink into the grainy sand as I gradually reach a depth that touches above my waist, then, bracing myself for the numbing cold, diving onto my board, immersing my top half in the crisp temperature the water holds. After the piercing cold is absorbed by my skin, and I am lying flat on smooth fiberglass, I see a wave forming in the distance. In a hurry, paddling madly, grazing my hands on the fiberglass sides of the board, desperate to get deep enough to catch the wave. I turn the board around and feel the wave coming behind me. This is the moment. The moment that feels like waiting for your plane to take off, or waiting for a raffle to be drawn, hoping desperately to hear your name called out. I feel the swell behind me, and continue paddling, facing the shore this time. I can feel it as a powerful but consistent surge brings the nose of my board up, and I hurry to lift myself up. I am crouching. My hands nervously let go of the sides. I am bent over. I am straightening. I am standing. My palms are flailing madly, but feel free in the warmer air. Within seconds, I lose my balance and the rush pulls me under. I fall off the board and take a mouthful of seawater. I emerge, laughing, trying to stabilize my focus and figure out whereabouts on the beach I am. As I drag the board back to shore, the salty sea water is already drying in my hair, fingernails and skin. I feel the familiar crunch of dry sand, and collapse, laughing, into the soft grains. I could do this again.
I was so excited to finally have my own surfboard. Brand new, I just hadn't had the chance to take it out yet. My brother asked to borrow it one day, and I couldn't see why not. He helped me attach the fins and leg rope, and I watched him walk away with my latest investment.
I was going into the garage to find something when I saw it there, in half, the fiberglass peeled towards the nose, the insides stuffed with sand, lying in a pile. The next day, my brother came home to find me waiting for him outside his room. "I have good and bad news! The bad news is, I broke your surfboard, the good news is, you now have two boogie boards!". I am sitting.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:54 AM UTC
what if
the entire world
and everything we saw
was painted by angels
and there was a raffle every day
and the winning angel
got to paint the sunset
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
crushing dabs
like Brits with ****
ragging on the braggarts
for being ********
mastering fascism
like I’m in a classroom
learning to bridegroom
and lower the boom
eating shrooms
faster than a pig truffling
feathers ruffling
feet shuffling
feeling the scruff again
as I rub my chin
and I begin mashing the rascals
and stashing the raffle wins
like at Bingo hassling
the troll doll queen
bout to bring this to a ring
and sing to all ya’ll songs
of wax and things…..
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
You asked if I loved you so here is my answer:
You see I didn't buy you, but here you are. Some might say I won you at a game station at a county fair. Maybe I did, or maybe I won you in a birthday party ticket raffle. Either way I'm stuck here trying to keep this gold fish alive kind of like how I try to love things, but we both know it will die soon anyway.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Standing at back of cafeteria during youth basketball awards
ceremony
This is my community.
"What you do may not seem important but it is very important
that you do it."
The men and women bringing the boys and girls a step to
wisdom.
Win or lose, play your best and treat your opponent with
respect.
Maybe the school principal can explain the ultimate mystery?
The women cannot be this chaste! The men so committed to
non-violence!
What is the board president alone in her bedroom.
Coach Strong and his blowsy frowsy wife?
They put much emotion and gratification aside to get things
done. Done for their sons and done for their daughters.
Visit the web site! Buy a raffle ticket! Belong to the loved
ones!
I follow distantly. I watch warily. I have not been asked to
lead or lift a load.
Sitting in a chair in a corner of a room at the top of a house
near the end of a street on the edge of a city at the mouth
of a river,
Estuary of ocean, ocean of atmosphere, pierced by a meteor
bringing ore and organisms, incinerating elements and
rototilling ecosystems,
Everything changes but consciousness.
The kids of course are perfect as animals in habitats.
In light of these basketball certificates, team spirits,
Time, our moment, is indeed "the mercy of eternity."
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
"Grey, I wish I was you!
You're so happy!
You never give up!
You never struggle!
How do you do it?"
Daily, I get told this.
Always saying thank you,
as if my vocabulary bit my tongue,
spitting something else out,
someone else into my place.
My throat burns with screams
I can not release,
as if my own carbon dioxide suffocated my thoughts,
leaving a waste of capacity within the room.
This paint consumes my face,
concealing any trace of reaction
that I want to give.
That I need to detoxicate from my chemical unbalance.
I want to speak
but the flood of anxiety
grasping at my air,
makes me too terrified to be heard.
If I was heard
no one would believe it was me.
They would all look around,
and say nothing,
worshiping the silence I yet to give.
The consequences hide behind the lines,
that my mind can't bend.
The ventilation of my corrupted system
backslides into error,
shutting down the coordination
of my world to come.
Turning my everything
against the collapsing forgotten,
that I didn't raffle for.
I didn't sign up for this
scenery that rotates my sights to the
desperate calling
of a separating cell.
"You look so different, Grey. Have you lost weight?"
Oh, thank you for confusing
my sorrow
as cackling ossein
that lost all their symbolism
as a whole.
Why satisfy the ocean
if the waves tug between
the used and abused.
How did my appearance affect the way
vitality takes place
between the lines
of an open book
that I elope
with the desperation
of being found,
Being saved.
“Why do you sleep so long,
even though you went to bed at 7:30?”
I don’t sleep for the sake of depletion from the world.
Sleep calls from the numbness attached to my dangling limbs,
the rumination of death,
but somehow,
still isn’t convinced.
Why bother to contrast me
to the markings of the sun,
if only to be controlled by the skin.
"Sweetheart, why are you so quiet? You're never quiet."
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
kid with dog, I know, not what you’re thinking of my midwestern peace porn. for lightning burn a stick above advancing plastic army. make zeroed the black kid with red dog. this I can follow. my loyalty to shame and to the poorness of my spirit’s ghost. god drawing himself in god’s raffle. a woman with cigarette on a zoo outing. bold I make her in images mine. I stalk, don’t worry, I tell her myself. it’ll pass being tired of god.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
The lacy touch of your fingers upon my ********
The soft touch of your smooth lips upon mine
Now lay between the empty bed sheets
Stained with time
The spilt tears
The endless fears
The lacy touch of your fingers upon her ********
The soft touch of your smooth lips against her hips
Now lay covered under the fresh bed sheets
Stained with your crime
Was I nothing more but a doll to play with?
Some sort of toy that you could just dispose of as time went on?
I looked into your eyes
I thought I saw your soul
Now I hope that she can see the truth;
You pick us out at random like a raffle ticket
And if the prize you receive does not please you
Then the exchange shall be soon
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 5:06 PM UTC
Once upon a time
There once lived a swine.
He loved to travel.
Unraveling himself in solemn novel.
Along with a apple.
He'd often babble.
With a book won from raffle,
He'd stand bowleg and baffled.
He'd often tattle
Not meaning to ramble.
Standing bowleg and baffled.
His face a smooth red cackle.
The look on his face outdone.
The zipper on his pants came undone.
Far from the favorite son
Those whom seen would make fun.
Of a swine whom despised bacon kind.
Losing peace of mind.
He soon became unkind.
Confined by bacon kind.
He'd straighten a leather belt
Soon a hand seldom dealt.
Soon a bag of rind.
Some kind of stew, cordon bleu.
With much displeasure.
Read the obituary.
And to think its almost February
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 1:00 AM UTC
The electric kettle grooves like a gavel bounce bouncing off the bench when the judge won the raffle
The sound waves baffle the mind as the refrigerator hums along to the microwaves song
A beep beepin’ melody as smoke’s creep creepin’ from the oven
And the blender is lovin’ the distraction
Keepin’ their eyes from the action
As he hatchets and dispassionately dispatches chickpeas left and right
No end to the violence in sight
Who cares about wrong from right
There will be hummus tonight
**** blender got his business done but now the fun begins as the stove channels the power of the sun to heat the pan and the plan is to fry the dough, those homemade doughnuts make the crowd go nuts but the sizzle of the grease unleashes the beast of the band, the main man, the rockstar, tattoo on his arm, rugged charm, protects you from harm, my man the fire alarm.
The fire truck sirens join the orchestration and soon the scene of devastation muffles into a hum, but umm, the night’s still young and we could still go, you know, I’m pretty loco for them Doritos and I may be burnt and poor but Taco Bell is open ’til 4.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
I'm afraid of the man
That comes knocking at my door half past dawn
With a whisper in his arm
Looking for my soul to take with him to the Chapel
For another raffle
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
Try to imagine what life would be like if love didn't exist.
Tender touches, long hugs, eternal hand-holding, or even just a kiss;
They'd all be gone from our conscious minds
and logic would rule decisions of all kind.
Thus, the age of self-satisfaction begins
while love viewed as trash is thrown into bins.
This is the life in which you live; a reality so cold
that you don't have the guts or ideals to be bold
and you sit there, putting your whole life on hold,
clinging to an impossible dream, denying the ability to grow
and those immense feelings you have for Jane or John Doe
slip through the seams as your heart has failed to be sewn.
It's a Valentine's Day raffle and you weren't chosen,
but instead of your battery being frozen,
you decided you'd rather face corrosion;
the last bit of your spark facing a slowly-decaying implosion.
"To Hell with it," you said.
What little is left with your humanity, now dead.
Forgotten morals, meaningless principles.
Narcissistic vibe now in plain sight; visible.
What you once were was categorized by being fictional
and now you feel like you're invincible
when women or men flock to you, keeping you at your pinnacle
and you know that your sick, heinous acts are unforgivable,
but the thought of you actually caring is purely unthinkable.
This is the time of our degeneration.
Of desperation, of flirtation,
of admiration, and ***********
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
What if the town of Mayberry wasn’t
Exactly “white”?
Some of it would be of course
But what if most was “not quite?”
And whom?
They all look the same.
The same arms.
The same hands.
Creamy, milky blanched and not exactly pink even in soapy dishwater.
It does explain why there aren’t really any children.
That would give one away
That tawny skin
That curious hair and inky eyes
Aunt Bea, her nose is a little wide perhaps and yet...
Well Sheriff Andy sure can sing and his hair has just the slightest suggestion of a wave.
Otis’s lips are full and plump.
His face is round not square.
He is the most unassuming and
gentlemanly of criminals.
He locks himself up at night when it’s called for.
Sshhh
Is this why everyone is so frozen?
Not one foot put wrong even
in a solemn country way?
The secret getting out?
People wouldn’t understand.
And they’re out there far off by a stream
There could be trouble
And who’s who?
And who’s what?
We sit and watch the glow of quiet spectacle.
The pantomime of the solicitude.
The church raffle.
The apple pie.
The charade where no one knows the answer
If you were uninitiated maybe you would never know.
Imagine the stillness.
Now Opie you stay out of the sun!
But Pa!
I mean it. Now go do as you’re told and get ready for supper.
Oh alright.
They sit quietly around the table
Drinking iced tea and smiling
Nothing’s moving.
You sure know how make a fine piece of
Pie Aunt Bea!
Oh Andy!
No elbows on the table.
Why yes Sir.
Why no Ma’am.
Look, my hair is blond
And my eyes are a funny golden brown
I have a lot of freckles and when it rains
my hair does not know what to do
I wear it in a long braid down my back, tight
Someday I’ll meet a nice blond man and he’ll take me away from here.
I’ll stay out of the sun most days and our children
will be perfect.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:34 PM UTC
An unexpected trigger arose today. I won a brass mirror in a raffle that I was able to take home to use in my house. The staff helped me load it into my car, but now I have to get it into the house.
I helped my friend, who won a shelf from that same raffle, load it into her car. She took it home and her husband helped unload it and put it into place.
All of a sudden, a wave of sadness washed over me.
I don't have that.
I don't have someone to help me carry in the groceries, someone to sit next too while I talk about my day, someone to offer me a hand with the dishes, or someone to help with the heavy things.
There's some sort of double meaning there that one could uncover. How I not only have to carry the truly heavy things alone, but also how I have to carry the emotionally heavy things alone.
So much of my life I have been independent - practically taught to be that way from a young age. It was expected that if something needed carried, washed, or felt, I had to handle it alone. Typically I would consider independence a good things, but this one wrecked me. It reminded me of how truly alone I am in this life.
Of course I have friends to talk to, people who can help me move if planned far enough in advance, and friends who I can have dinner with - but every one of those things is circumstantial and temporary.
I consistently try to be comfortable with who I am enough that I don't NEED anyone but honestly, sometimes that isn't enough.
I may appear fiercely independent and self sufficient, but inside, I am still that little girl who feels forced to do the hard things alone. The little girl who was taught that help and companionship is a luxury only some people find. You can't buy it, you can't manufacture it, you can negotiate it. There are just some things in this life that alone-people will never have.
It reminds me of this movie I saw where the main character is so used to being alone that she invents things to make her life easier as an alone-person. Specifically she makes a device that helps her zipper her dress without the help of another person. Its so sad to me that the world and the way it works is created for community, its created for people who have people. True self-sufficiency doesn't exist.
Now I'm forced to sit here with this mirror in the backseat, reminded by it's presence that I am alone, at the core, in this world.
So I'll walk out of here, go home, and sit alone on my couch, eat dinner alone, and cry alone, while the mirror stays, unmovable, alone in the car. Like me, forced to understand that without help, you can never truly be powerful enough to be completely independent.
-t.s.
Jul 15, 2022
Jul 15, 2022 at 4:09 PM UTC