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Matt Mar 2015
If you visit google's home page today
You will see a Japanese man
Examining noodles with a microscope
Hahaha

Thank you Momofuku Ando!
For inventing Top Ramen
Although not the healthiest choice

Here are the sodium levels for each flavor

Top Ramen Oriental Flavor-- 800 mg 33% daily value
Top Ramen Beef Flavor-- 760 mg 32 % daily value
Top Ramen Chicken Flavor-- 910 mg 38% daily value
Top Ramen Shrimp Flavor-- 860 mg 36% daily value
Top Ramen Picante Beef Flavor-- 780 mg 32% daily value
Top Ramen Chili Flavor-- 760 mg 32% daily value

If you are watching your sodium levels
Stay away from the chicken and shrimp flavors
Lol!

Many college students
Throughout the past few decades
Have relied on Top Ramen
As they crammed for their exams

I have even indulged
And enjoyed Top Ramen
Once or twice
During my early college years
Maura Feb 2015
There goes my Ramen
oh
no.
there it goes
it drops to the ground
on a fresh patch of snows

There goes my Ramen
oh
no
I see it start to sizzle
tears roll down my eyes
and slowly start to drizzle

It wasn't the Ramen I was upset about
it was life!
it just added to the things that I could doubt
about myself, and thats what made me shout:
***** YOU RAMEN
I JUST WANTED TO EAT YOU
AND NOW ID LIKE TO EAT YOU
ABOUT AS MUCH AS A PILE OF POO
'CUZ NOW YOU LAY ON THE GROUND IN A PILE OF SNOW STEW

Ally looked at me and began to laugh
"Oh Maura take a chill pill or go take a bath.
you need to calm down and really relax
If stress got you down I just want you to know
people cut off their ear because of stress like Van Gogh
so if the stress is too much you should really just go
and get out of here, go home and lay low"
This story really escalated quickly.
Jo Baez Jan 2016
I had dinner again at our favorite Japanese ramen restaurant
I sat next to your fading presence and the lucky cat statue
Had the usual ramen noodles, pork broth, spicy miso, and your favorite side dish
Then got drunk off a pitcher, hot sake, and your absence
A crowded room leafed over until
I was the last one to leave
I sat in my car out in the parking lot listening to your favorite acoustic song "I don't mind"
Then clarity opened the passenger door sit and sat next to me
I realized that night, during that moment
That being alone wasn't too bad but I was still completely lost without you
A poem off a book of poems I'm writing called "Letters To Hannya"
Cecilia Sep 2010
i bumped into you
at the supermarket
i told you
i ran out of food
you asked
what i was buying
i said
pudding and ramen
you said
i have a healthy diet
i told you
it encompassed all the major food groups
you asked
what the major food groups were
i said
pudding and ramen
you laughed
i laughed
and we tripped
into a kiss

remind me to go
to the supermarket
after you get settled in
at my aprtment
or is it
our apartment?
This is a little more prose than poem, but I would definetly like some critique!
Brandon May 2012
I made Ramen nood---
les in the basement last night
it was convenient
Jeffwtfries Jul 2018
1 . Die, all of you.

2. Flip her skirt up.

3. Let everyone be happy.

4. Bring the most righteous person back to life.

5. Bring back everyone who died.

6. I want eternal life and youth!

7. Confidence.

8. I want to stop being a warrior.

9. I want more talent.

10. A harem, of course!

11. Disappear, all of you.

12. Expand my power to one thousand paths.

13. Money! Money!

14. I want to be friends with everyone in the world.

15. Rule the world!
Ruling the world is hard.

16. I want a girlfriend!
But would that really be love?

17. I want wisdom.
Foolishness makes you who you are.

18. I want to know the future.
But what fun would be living then?

19. I want to be a pro baseball player.
But you would have to work out every day then.

20. Telekinesis.
Then why I have hands?

21. I want to fly.
Then why I have feet?

22. I want to speak all languages.
You don't like to talk anyway (RELATABLE).

23. I want an X-ray vision.
That would lead to misunderstandings.

24. I wish for an end to war.
But it won't end exploitation.

25.I want to climb mount Everest.
But you would have only yourself to rely on.

26. I want a smartphone that can't run out of battery.
It would last only a few years still.

27. I want to pilot a giant robot!
What you would be fighting?

28. To never stub my toe again.
Why not just watch where you walk?

29.I want a cool supercar.
It won't feel the same if you don't buy it yourself.

30. I wish everyday could be Sunday.
Go to work on Sunday?

31. I want to be a bird.
Being a human is much better.

32. I want to read people's minds.
You would start to distrusting people.

33. The ability to wake up early.
But you would just go back to sleep. (Totally relatable)

34. I want to enter a manga.
What if you couldn't get out?

35. I want to be invisible.
You are already invisible in the classroom (that hurts, you know).

36. I want to not feel pain.
That's dangerous.

37. I want that rare book.
It's only rare because no one else have it.

38. I want that limited edition item.
Would it still be limited edition then?

39. I want a best friend.
What if they knew you were friends only because of a wish?

40. I want to be a great man.
That greatness wouldn't last.

41. I want to talk to animals
They probably don't have much to say.

42. I want to travel the world.
It's likely harder than it sounds.

43. I want to live in a mansion
All by yourself?

44. I want a fighter plane
Where would you park it?

45. I want to play all instruments!
But buying them all would be expensive.

46. I want to see a ghost!
Like hell you do!

47. I want to meet a great person from the past
But they would have a lot of lectures for a modern person.

48. I want my dormant power awakened!
What if you don't have any?

50. I want power to stop time!
That's like saying you want a power to commit crime.

51. I want better penmanship.
In digital era?

52. I want to meet an elf
In this day and age?

53. I want youth.
What do you think you have now?

55. I want an eye that sees long distances.
You mean like a third eye?

57. I want to hire a maid.
Just go to cafe.

58. I want to be a manga artist.
Answer one of the Young Jump recruiting postings.

60. I want to live in a deserted island!
You would probably want to leave it right away.

61. I want a time machine!
Do you have an idea how to get energy to power it?

62. I want to be free of stress.
You need stress to grow.

63. I want world peace.
Would you still exist in a peaceful world?

64. I want a loving family.
But artificial one?

65. I want to eat the world's most delicious food.
But you want to eat cup ramen too.

66. I want to go to amusement park
What are you, a girl raised to be a living weapon? (This is surely an allusion to something, I just can't get what)

67. I want to be on the front page of a newspaper!
Are you going to commit a crime or what?

77. I want to be a cyborg.
Who would repair you if you broke?

78. I want an art collection.
You don't even like that stuff. Don't pretend to be an intellectual.

79. I want to buy a penguin.
Can you even take care of an animal?

80. I want to talk to famous people.
About what? Any subject in mind?

82. A world free of evil people.
What would be left?

83. I want to be taller.
And then you would want to be shorter again.

84. I want courage.
What are you, a lion?

86. I want prestige.
Unearned prestige?

87. I want to never be late for a bus.
But then the buses would be late.

88. I want to be the strongest in world.
Why, so you can bully the weak?

89. I want to invent something amazing.
All inventions ultimately become weapons.

90.I want to film a movie.
You would bring down any set you were on.

91. I want to be someone who will never lose again.
The moment you wish for this, you become an eternal loser.

92.I want to become a master swordsman.
Dishonestly?

96. I want to learn the truth of the world.
No, you don't.

97. I wish misfortune on people I hate.
Wishing misfortune on others is a ****** thing to do.

98. To grant your wish instead.
Cancel that immediately.

99. I want to turn my wish into 100 wishes.

100. Let me forget
Tyrus Jun 2017
Oh Ramen, Sweet as sugar
You shall fill my stomach with a myriad of tastes.
I am like putty because you’re my ******
Your enchanting dance at an unstoppable rate

Sip, slurp, and swallow
Everywhere you go I follow
I can’t help but be the cooker
Since you’re an amazing looker

You’re the heart inside my soul
seeing you every day is my goal
It is my heart that you stole.
I really like noodles in a cup; what better way to express my love? Write a poem
Daniello Mar 2012
Our consciousness is often conjured in the noggin the way
pompously-starved college kids microwave Ramen: phenomen-

ally over-heated and eaten up unbelievably quick, wow, you’re a
genius, now you can hurry back to completing your awesome thesis!

Neatness!

But having burned your tongue, you vilely cursed inside
with words rougher than ***, not knowing where they were from,

and flustered, said you were done; plus, **** it, this work is dumb.

Oh, freshman, if only you had savored dem noodles!
just having fun with words
Instead of the default Top Ramen "seasoning,"
try:
minced Garlic and Onion,
Basil, Marjoram, black pepper, ground cayenne,
and a hint of parsley and thyme
and use sea salt
to salinify to taste.

Personalized seasonings
make all the difference.
Waverly Nov 2011
Who Am I?

Well,
I must be
that ******,
the one
in the black hoodie
***** sweatpants
and an uncombed eye,
that's always wooly
scratchy,
bloodshot
with searching for
my stash spot,
that ******
in your peripherals
that you keep your eye on
because he's
not
in a polo
looking nice,
talking
"well-spoken"
and
not
a threat
to your beautiful
lily-white daughter.


Because I grew up
fixing myself
ramen noodles
and
lifting the welcome mat
after school,
I must also be
that ******
whose father wasn't
in the same house
until he was age 13,
and when I tell you that,
you weren't expecting it
because "you're not a racist."
but
you weren't surprised.


You see,
I must be
that ******,
a stand-in
for all other *******.
I must be that ******
who represents
all *******,
not because you are racist,
but because I'm the only
******
you've met
who doesn't talk like
dis, y'know whatmsayin,
and i talk like
this, do you know what I'm saying?
I must be that ******.

In order for you
to feel okay
being around me
I must be that ******
who goes to college
does the right
thing
the white thing
and gets a job
a nice little house,
a nice black wife
with a nice
new england
clear
dialect,
(what I was
trying to get at
earlier
is that ****** dialects,
by their mere intonation,
denote stupidity,
right?)
and doesn't say a word
when his white friends
make ****** jokes
or talk in a ****** dialect
mocking some Aunt Jemima
they heard at Walmart.

But,
I also must be that ******
who doesn't step out of line
and say
"WHY IS IT
THAT IN EVERY SINGLE
ENGLISH CLASS
WE READ
ONLY
TWO
BLACK AUTHORS
A SEMESTER,
AND THAT'S
ENOUGH,
JUST ENOUGH
TO KEEP THE
****** PARENTS
HAPPY."

And If I happen to be a ******,
I,
by all means,
must not be that ******
who had a white girlfriend,
and
this girlfriend
after dating
a ******,
tried to date a white guy
she liked,
and when she told him
that she had dated,
loved,
and yes,
******
a ******,
he had said back:
"I can't believe
you ****** a ******."

Then again,
I must be that ******
with the big swinging ****
able to destroy
a white girl's ******
with its pulverizing
power.

And,
please,
If I am going to be a ******
don't be the one
who writes a poem
about
having to be
that ******,
because those
kinds of *******
are being
over-sensitive,
those dashiki-wearing-*******
who think
"Da white man dis."
and "Da white man dat."

Because
I am not one of those *******
descended from the first people on earth,
your brother,

not in the ****** way,

but the familial,
species way.

Why am I even writing
this, ****** isn't a main operative
word anymore.

Search and find "******"
and
replace with
"Black Guy." That way it becomes
a joke.
Colt Jul 2013
for Those who eat ramen by choice, or not.*

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by disillusionment,
lacking egotistical sold, dragging themselves through the hip streets at dawn
looking for a socially self-aggrandizing fix.
Poets, as they sit in desks and discuss discourse
about discourse about discourse about discourse,
who fear that thinking itself was buried with Vonnegut,
who are lost in forests of brick walls,
inviting, because they block the wind of dying fall,
who swim in cesspools filled with academic sewage, yearning for freedom,
for truth, as they always have,
mining their minds for images, and searching for words to describe
-a reality which is virtual at its core and each act, another chore./
-a scene of life which reflects all that is poignant and sacred.
Poets seek musicians while musicians seek poets.
and the dog chases its tail, endlessly
and the dog chases its tail, endlessly
and the dog chases its tail, endlessly

These poets who search aimlessly for the feeling of feeling,
who are overwhelmed with meaning to the point where meaning
has no meaning in itself.
Who claim this poem as their own and continuously write themselves into it.
It is those who suffer in truth that live the poetic.
Those who sit in front of space heaters eating peanut butter sandwiches in winter,
who sweat unknowingly in summer, comforted in each’s odor.
Those who open Macbooks while squatting in empty flats.
Signing up, logging in and zoning out, forever disengaged.
Those who type prophecy on keypads and let keyboards gather dust-
stratification, signs of long nights spent in century-old homes still not renovated,
ceilings sinking at the sides while those above pogo to punk rock long dead,
or grind genitals to old soul, simulating all that is sensual.
Those who play archaeologist to their own layers of makeup, grimed on the sink.
Those who share their food with the roaches and the mooches who all have keys,
who use the books as shelves to hold ceramic mugs, stained with a single drip-drop,
who, with arms crossed, watch bands in basements play noise.
Those who replaced their nu-metal records with folk but kept the unkempt beards.
Those who drink stale beer on stranger’s rooftops.
Those who live with bags under eyes, themselves asleep, lacking a body,
sleeping naked together to stay warm,
sleeping naked together to stay sane,
sleeping naked together to stay touched.

Those who leave coffee in unplugged automatic pots, decaying rapidly.
Those who eat pizza for breakfast, cold or microwaved, as an act of ultimate indulgence.
Those who prance about in un-matching socks
from hardwood floors to vinyl floors to tile floors, all under the same popcorn ceiling,
dancing to the sound of rhythmic silence.
Those who fight with lovers about acts, but never once mention the act of love itself.
Those who don flannel plaid in springtime color, constructing Williamsburg,
who consider gentrification a new form of landed gentry,
who live in poverty as if it were a novelty,
capitalist martyrs sacrificing employment to hide being non-hirable,
who shop in online surplus department stores for unique vintage.
Those who, who, who hoot like the owls framed on their walls, eyes wide but beaks small.
Those who are oppressed by nonexistent kings ruling in imaginary suits.
Those who crave something new, not tired-as the form of this very poem-
something which is not-yet auto-tuned.
Those who, faux-hawked and shredded, rock and bop to Bowie doing Lou
on Sunday Morning from Station to Station shooting ******,
who walk swiftly with denim skin on their legs and refuse socks.
Those who, in their rightest mind, are the wrongest-minded.
Those who can reject privilege only because they are privileged,
who, in their uniform whiteness, denounce racism,
who, in their uniform straightness, claim immune to homophobia
who, with their ***** ***** in a row, claim to be feminists.

And those who search for revolution in a time when rebellion is conformity.
Listening to the  pounding sound of blog-protesters typing n o w.
who, in claiming to accept, don’t accept the unaccepting,
who got veggies tattooed on their sides while snapping bacon in their teeth,
who ironically infiltrated asylums and performed madness until the shocks came
and they were maddened, for good, eaten alive by volts resounding
ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching.
Who sleep naked together to be together but end up being alone,
exchanges from lips that move in pretentious drone,
and the dog chases its tail, endlessly.
When the abnormal is normal and the whole structure is inverted and
heaven is here and flames under the soil are no longer hell burning for soles of the
Converse, Adidas, and Nike sneakers on the bicycle pedals of poets who ride at night,
listening to the sound of owls that question:
who?
whoo?
whooo?
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
It's like the movie
part of me*
It tells me where I should
go and want to be
Please note that I will say
Not a dark place
inside my suitcase

"Robin Red Breasted" suit
Peck and nip and tuck in place
The rainbow iridescent
Suiting her taste wet rain tents
Everyone was Green with envy
Robin/ Rainbow event lets hear
it for our Army so many
troops

He was sitting politely
Like a salesman of suitcases
on her stoop
She was mesmerized
Living out of a tour suitcase
She wanted daisies she was
ready for fantasies
Of him in her suitcase

Tumbling through
Another time Postman
Singing birds to ring twice
Birds all in groups
Computer laptops she wanted
to be surprised so mysterious
But ready for love ingenious

He laughed not losing sight
Robin eats like a bird
so hilarious
She packed her sunshine
yellow ribbons
she was ready to feed
Those Brooklyn pigeons

Packed suitcase ready for
the love of God
Going frenzy from her fruit loops
Robin Birdie born traveler scoop
Well nested flying South
fully invested
Rocking her flight cradle

Wherever I go or whatever I do
Traveling packs meet
Mr. Ramen noodles
Getting silly splashing puddles

The Spiritual Zen
traveling boots over a shower
He kissed them high up (Eiffel Tower)
Rome Italy wines in love cahoots

The call I'm ready "Amazon" wild
Let us go, child, another story
But the wildcard fresh air
Oh! Dear
The  lightness easy does it
feathering wings the clues fit
Packing my suitcase
Love is a drug of "Europe"
Perfectly fine wine
Always hope with cantaloupe
I just felt to write something about a trip maybe I should have my head flipped but this is what I came up with imaginative being ready holding my heart steady being selective and being ready for anything the birds fly Robin red breast putting her to the test
IZ J Apr 2019
"Chicken" he called out, "don't you remember?"
"You like beef" she shook her head "It's always been beef"
"College" he smiled "In college, I always ate chicken"

She nodded
She thought

"Well, you at least crunched it up" she reassured herself
"You crunched it up and ate it like soup"

"No. Never" his smile began to fade "That was you"
"Do you not remember?" he asked
My favorite food
Our wedding date, our romance, our love

I watched from the hall
This fight isn't real
These problems aren’t real enough
At least now I know why I like chicken ramen
And why I like it crunched
ponny jo May 2014
i've a predisposition to pretty prose,
i look in your eyes, and stronger it grows,
you are sways from branching willows,
you are songs that nobody knows,
your scent is enchanting, like earth over-grown.
you walk with such grace, your poetry shows.
Nicole Walsh Apr 2013
I am literate in daydreams
and letting my imagination rule my head

I am literate in music
where rationale can be abandoned.

I am literate in procrastination,
pushing away my mind-defying.

I am literate in heartbreak
which has been already over-endured.

I am literate in lazy weekends
spent with my sister and a remote.

I am literate in creating;
not masterpieces, but heart and soul pieces.

I am literate in ramen noodle and green tea afternoons
in sweatpants and sneakers with no makeup on.

I am literate in moment-capturing
and finding the right words to explain.

I am literate in thunderstorms
and dancing in between water droplets.

I am literate in heart confessions
over acoustic guitars and games of solitaire.

I am literate in wanting
and taking away from what I already have.

I am literate in wanderlust
and a wholehearted need to escape.

I am literate in color-coordination and clothing arranging
and bringing out all my best.

I am literate in kissing with desperation
and wanting to have it be effortless.

I am literate in wasting my time
in my head, in my heart, and in the clouds.

I am literate in everything mentioned
and so much that I can’t even say.
Leah Mar 2013
semi-sarcastic
fully somatic
cigarette addict

bracelet wearer
ramen noodle sharer
and nothing else.
Sawyer Rhiannon Jul 2017
I can't eat Ramen.
Which *****, cuz I love Ramen!
The broth is so good!


Curley fries are great.
They're better than normal fries.
Nobody knows why.


DVD's aren't dead.
I like the commentary.
That's why I buy them.


Thesauruses help,
But is using them cheating?
I will never know.


Okay, I'm done now.
Seriously, you can go.
They're just dumb haikus!
This is what the brain of a poet looks like. We all think in Haiku. X3
Shane Carmichael Jan 2012
Night number ... ****.
I get it, I’m done for in your eyes.
Please stop doing this to me.
I’m serious.
Don’t drag me along through everything.
This isn’t how I want this to end.
Sleepless night number ... ****.
Why?
Why?


******* why?
C H Watson Dec 2014
Yellow-haired shinobi
    Hokage of our hearts
Teach us all of bravery
    With your deadly ninja arts!

How sharper than a kunai
    And mightiest by far
Uzumaki Naruto
    Konoha's brightest star!

When you're starving for some ramen
    And your chakra needs a fill
Have a bowl with Naruto-chan
    Jiraiya's got the bill!

And when old Madara's cracking wise
    And Susano'o fills the darkened skies
Remember where your true strength lies!
    With good friends like Naruto!


    Dattebayo!
© Copyright 2014 C. H. Watson. All rights reserved.
Verdant Quo Nov 2018
I carry a white noodle bowl,
carefully up to my chin.
I smile as my nose catches,
the steam so grey and thin.

I set the bowl down gently,
Because it was too hot.
and take this time to ponder,
The noodles I have got.

A small carrot captain,
rides his vessel south.
But the spoony seas are violent,
and bring him to my mouth.

Legions of green sprouts,
are armed and at the ready.
But their base was built on broth,
and therefore is unsteady.

A scallion sergeant paces,
He’s timid and afraid.
And hopelessly fell in love with,
A mushroom mermaid.

The brothy land changes,
As beef enters the scene.
And to the broccoli scouts,
this meat is only mean.

Finally the egg,
who knows he’s the best.
Will wander around the edges,
till he decides to rest.

The dinner’s duty done
I tilt the ocean east
And drain the sea of veggies
into the belly of the beast

I take the styrofoam bowl.
And poke a hole in its side.
The bowl is now found empty
All my friends have died.
Eric W May 2017
i. Reasons Why
To seek to understand the self.
To put the scattered pieces
together
to form a coherent narrative of
my life.
To understand what pieces are missing
and how to continue without
them.

ii. First Memories
The first memory I have is
of a high chair,
ravioli,
and an unfamiliar older woman.
Mother working.
I explored the house,
a baby gate with dogs behind.

iii. Paranoid Tendencies
Later, Mom with her pistol,
nails in windows,
doors locked,
even internal ones.
Being hushed
told to hide under the desk
with my nieces.
Terrified of what was happening,
she went outside
to clear the perimeter,
certain,
so certain that people are
after all of us.
Why?
I remember her wild green eyes
and her hair of fire.

Nights of this,
waking up to her shooting outside
my window,
cursing at this alleged person
"creeping around."

Nights she would sit in a
small yellow chair,
only meant for kids,
at the door leading from the back room
to the kitchen.
I'd have to ***,
but she would clear the rooms
before I went.
That's love.
Protection.

iv. Missing Father: **** On You
The first time my father
held me,
I ****** in his face.
So I'm told.

v. Education Impressions
I wandered through the halls,
my first day of
school, Kindergarten,
with no clue where I was going.
Dropped off, late for work.
Always working, the bills had to
be paid.
That's love.
A roof over my head.

Paddled weekly, sometimes more,
in Kindergarten,
age 5.
Apparently I had some disciplinary
issues.

Pulled from this school, onto
the next.
Write-up forms weekly, or more.
I would slip them under the
bathroom door in the morning
while Mom was in a rush,
getting ready for work.
Always being paddled,
coming home to switches and belts
and hands
and a tired Mother.
Nothing abusive,
but that's love.
Discipline.

Fighting, kicking, punching,
pick on me,
try it.
Always fighting.
Their most used punishment was
to walk the fence
during PE.
Needless to say,
I never got my Physical Education.

Moved to another school,
discipline issues
again.
Stopped fighting,
and sacrificed my self-esteem
for it.
The issues continued,
but I graduated and
left.

vi. Missing Father: Formative Years
This is when you were needed most.
I made many poor decisions,
a stupid kid,
with a need for just a bit
of guidance.
I made it on my own though.

vii. Bologna and Ramen
There were special nights,
with an electricity through the air,
when Mom would cook.
Hamburger helper, green beans,
corn, a fresh gallon of
sweet tea, a slice of white bread
to top it off.
A meal for kings in those days.

But, typically, with a single income,
and a house of five,
it was sandwiches and noodles.
I despise bologna and ramen
still.

viii. Missing Father: The Second Time
The second time we met
was in a store my Mom frequented.
I asked you if I should get
a hot sausage.
I didn't find out who I had spoken to
for years.

ix. Control
As a kid I always could figure
out how to make things
go my way.
I would make sure things lined
up
just
right.

Most things are about the order
in which information
is revealed.
You have to see through others' eyes.

It's a ***** side of me,
but I do what I can to keep it at bay.
Still,
it remains.

x. Envy
Family in Auburn,
cousins, Aunts, Uncles.
There was one set in particular.
My Uncle who come from nothing,
as all the others,
and was so determined to have something
out of life.

I always wanted to take his kids'
places.
The nice clothes that didn't smell of cats,
the go-karts and swim lessons and
swing set and pool.
They had it all.

I modeled myself after this Uncle.
I'm going to have something.
Now I do.

xi. Kitchen Floor
I laid in the kitchen floor
at my Sister's trailer
for several hours.
I cried, maybe.
I didn't speak, I just
laid there.
Catatonic.

This is the first thing that
came to mind when I started
realizing the sickness in my mind.
A first clue, if you will.
All of the others fell into place
quickly afterward.

xii. Step-Father
It all started so perfect,
how could there be a demon in
this kind and gentle man?

But manic phases happened.
Regularly.

Usually spurred by alcohol.

He would stay up all night,
with *** after ***
of coffee.
Going through every item
in the house.

He and my Mom would scream,
so late,
she telling him to go to bed,
to get the **** out,
to quit messing with ****.
He would call her names
and throw things and make
word salad in the air of money
and get rich quick schemes.

I would pretend to sleep,
most nights I didn't while
he was manic.
I would sleep at school,
and dread the war-zone I'd
step into every day after.

He would finally be arrested
and committed.
This happened for years,
this cycle.

One of the last times it happened,
he put his hands on my niece.
I nearly killed him that night.

He died in a drunk driving
manic-induced spree
not long after.

He was a great man when he wasn't manic.
But that's love.
Through darkness and light.

xiii. Harm
I went through these years
filled with hatred and recklessness.
Lines on my arms,
and a barrel in my mouth,
but I came out the other side.

I know the dark times are here
when I regret not pulling that trigger.

xiv. Missing Father: Unneccessary Hardships
Things didn't have to be that way,
but maybe we are all better
for the suffering.

xv. Driving
I learned to drive by taking my Sister
back and forth to hospitals
because she was fiending for pain meds.
I watched her toss pill after pill down
her throat
for years.
"Migraines."
Aka, withdrawals.
She would scream and incite chaos
until she got her fix.
An addict.
It was not my Sister.

She attempted suicide multiple times.
Eventually the chemicals were too much,
she had a stroke.

I thought I was going to lose her,
my dear Sister.

She's clean now, and
I've never been more proud
of my big Sis.

xvi. A Final Word
My life was not hard,
no harder than anyone else's.
But it was mine.
I look at this myself and say
"oh boo hoo," in contempt of myself,
but it was real.

Somewhere, hidden in this
half-missing puzzle, is the
answer to the question on my
warped views on love and life.

This is my narrative,
these are my beginnings.
Christine Oct 2010
He and I
Are oil and water.
He is cigarettes and ravioli;
I am cranberries and ramen.

The great benefactor?
Yes, a factor
But not the end.
Not the root.
I shall never be a beggar.

Hark, calls reality
Indifference is aching for you.
Threatening, forcing.
Beware, or it shall overcome you.

I was never good at chemistry
And what is painting but a solution?
What are we but unstable?

Perhaps we are just allotropes.
MoMo Mar 2013
I used to cook for her all the time.
I wonder if she remembers. Can she?
Ramen noodles and toast
at 3:30 in the morning, churros at 8:15.
Sometimes in the middle of the night
she’d cat call my name and I’d always
run to her wondering- Is she hurt? and then
She better not have hurt herself.
I knew better though after the first few times,
yet I always went willingly enough through her
open bedroom door because she wanted me to.
But mostly chicken noodle soup on Sundays
and rice and jambalaya on Wednesday.
mmmmmmmmm.... Carminolas with a kick.
Pop pop pop and her buttons would fly across the room
and other times she’d be under the sheets, already
ready to press my hands against her caramelized skin.
And if we add a pinch of saffron, a dash a sumac,
and a teaspoon full of ajwain she will taste like
heaven and for those cherry lovers add a bit of mahlebi.
But I remember. She tasted like homemade chocolate and
marshmallows. Go make Mama something tasty.
She’d say afterwards and send me from the warmth of
her bed, a Saturday Night Live rerun echoing after me.
I’d bring her dumplings and udon and watch her while she ate,
wondering- Can she taste the arsenic?
A Dean Young Imitation

Title suggestions welcome!!
lifeonLSD Sep 2018
Gebroken
verslonden
kapot
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan puin
buiten
en van binnen

Elke steen ooit gelegd zijn gevormd door jouw handen
neergelegd met een precisie als geen ander
het cement zo sterk, dat elk blok omarmde
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan puin
buiten
en van binnen

Alles omarmende warmte die eruit raasde
alsof het nooit zo is geweest, zoekend als dwazen
hetgeen wat we als een rots in de branding voorzagen
de muren zijn ingestort
de vloer onder mijn voeten wegge-vagen
waar ik sta
niets anders dan puin
buiten
en van binnen

Oorverdovende herrie dat het maakte
toen één voor één de stenen vielen
de hemel brak open
evenals het geluid van binnen, nu buiten, schreeuwend en krakend
geen muren
geen vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan puin
buiten
en van binnen

Wat ooit geborgen was, staat nu vrij om te raken
zo geschiedt, het lag immers open voor de gevaren
tot de blik op de edelen haar ***** verraadde
werd het pas zichtbaar; de klok tegen het geheime wapen
geen muren
geen vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan stenen
buiten
en van binnen

Als gegeven lagen ze voor het oprapen
een voor een tot aan de daken
door eigen handen gebouwen en te bewaken
opende het de deuren tot alle ramen
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan stenen
buiten
en van binnen

Het haard inmiddels geladen
wat koud en kil was, is met volle vuren nu rustig aan het garen
tot in elke hoek weer een keer de zachte adem heeft geblazen
lege ruimtes langzaam gehuld in verhalen
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
niets anders dan stenen
buiten
en van binnen

Stap bij stap is elk blok aangeraakt, vormend in lagen
van buiten naar binnen en van binnen naar buiten, het is omgeslagen
met stenen, hand gesmeden
opnieuw de warmte in gekneden
van jou overgedragen op mij een thuis door gekregen
de muren
de vloer
waar ik sta
alleen maar juwelen
buiten
en van binnen.
mama
Antino Art Aug 2019
I am the only Asian in this bar right now.
Be my friend!
I will check the box of your social diversity quota.
Granted, I only speak a mispronounced fraction of
my immigrant parents' native tongue.
Ala Jackie Chan, I do not understand the words coming out the mouths of anyone on that massive continent (Russia included) that I appear to be more or less from.
But, I do eat spaghetti with chopsticks.
I am mystical as
fox, or Kitsune, in Japanese folklore.
I can hit you with wisdom worthy of a fortune cookie as fast as Google can tell you that the Philippines is nearly 2000 miles away from China. I want to say I'm from an exotic island where they play basketball in sandals and drink soda from plastic bags- like, A-level material you could make a movie out of in Slumdog Millionaire fashion and get awarded for your romantic portrayal of poverty you think is three worlds away from home. But nah, I'm just a kid from South Florida. Paved driveways and cul de sacs. But I do pump both fists in the air watching Manny Pacquio PPV fights on a bootleg stream. Beyond that, I'm probably the worst Asian there is. Not the crazy rich kind with a PHd. I dropped out of engineering after one semester and cannot solve a rubix cube. I never learned kung fu. Though I'm learning to face the adversity of becoming a single parent after my daughter's home broke in two. I write marketing proposals to pay the rent and poetry to fight without fighting in the spirit of Sun Tzu. My eyes do not slant in the direction of your narrative. I once ran in a pick up game where I caught the nickname of Yao Ming. Yao, I am 5 foot 8. Though I fall short of expectation, I can still check your diversity box on the way down and do a cool pen spin after to punctuate my intellectual prowess. I also happen to own an assortment of Japanese swords made in China, which I intend to use as heirlooms. This is what cultural colonization looks like: me, in a bar, the last samurai standing confused in an age of melting pots, Korean tacos and Asian slaw made by corporate imposters with names like PF Chang. What in the slaw is Asian? I wish I knew!  I wish I knew the true value of my heritage to be worthy of carrying it forward. Like how my grandfather planted a Malonggay tree in our backyard whose leaves my mother would pick and boil to make tinolang manok -the Filipino version of chicken soup- as a weeknight staple on our dinner table. I can barely soft boil an egg for instant ramen. Or how my motherland's socioeconomic gap tooth smile is so wide that it drove over 10 million of its native sons and daughters off its shores to find work overseas as servants on cruise ships and hospitals to feed the families they barely get to see. To follow their trail blazing footsteps, let me be the second generation tipping point where some form of cyclical tradition breaks. That way, I can raise my daughter free of predetermined scripts. So as the worst Asian in this or any bar, cheers:
to being the first of a new kind.
Morgan Powell Jul 2014
I am the way the cold
seems to seep into your bones
on that one day in January.
Uncomfortable,
unbearable,
unbeatable.

I am the milk
in the eyes of a
lactose intolerant.
You take the risk once,
then never again.

I am turning the lights off
at 4 AM and running
upstairs. You know there's
nothing behind you,
but the sliver of
suspicion
is still there.

I am the rejection letter.
You wait
and wait
and wait,
anticipation building,
only to receive me.
I bear nothing
but disappointment.

You are the smell of summer.
That first day
of the season when
you open the windows
and are greeted by songbirds
and the smell of freshly cut grass.

You are a favorite meal.
The one people crave
when they've eaten nothing
but ramen noodles
for the last 3 days. You
aren't tangible
but I can taste you as
if you were.

You are sleeping the day
away, but not caring
because it's the weekend. I'll
regret it tomorrow, but
**** does it feel good.

You are walking outside
barefoot at an ungodly
hour. Crickets chirping,
moisture in the air, each
breath you take goes
directly into your soul.

You are beauty
in the form of a person.
You are the trees and
clouds and
air we breathe, while

I am merely a
grain of sand
in your least favorite
beach.
for alina
Chase Gagnon Jan 2015
I took a walk today
and listened to the birds
choking on the smog,
broke my mother's back
with every step
and outran a stray dog.
I picked you a bouquet
of dandelions from the field
because flowers can't grow
when the sun's always concealed.
I put them in a vase
and filled it with water from the tap
they died within an hour,
now I know for sure you won't come back.
I always swore
I'd never own a broken home
but it's hard not to when the only one's who stay
are the garden gnomes —
but someone's been smashing them
in the middle of the night,
or maybe they're blowing out their brains
to escape my company
and the blight.
There's no magic left
in this city, so chronically gray
storms are always passing though
and the rainbows are too scared to stay...
I wanted to run away with you
from the hood and past the burbs
to somewhere where the air is clean
and filled with singing birds.
But instead I'm stuck here on this couch,
microwaving Ramen
while I search for words.
Chris T Mar 2014
while i do love
the taste of unhealthy
t.v. dinners for every meal
and i do enjoy
the slobbery salisbury steaks,
extra salty ramen noodles
and those little tuna cans,
it's great to come home
after a long emotional
roller coaster week
and have abuela cook up
some arroz con garbanzos
and unas buenas chuletas,
get the latest family gossip,
comments on how
el gobernador is being
the biggest pendejo
in power at the moment,
watch the news,
see how many were killed this week,
and just shake our heads
as the island crumbles into Detroit like
madness (at least we've got great beaches),
ah but yes,
abuela's cooking,
what i need to forget
the girl with the pretty hair.
Came home from the university this weekend and my grandparents came over to our house and grandma's cooking some mean *** pork chops!

This is all i need at the moment.
Bea Jul 2019
It's composed
In a tiny little block
Add water
And it can't control itself

She's composed
Everything is fine
Until someone adds water
And she can't control herself

Her water is her name
Her water is her past
Her water is the constant reminder
That she didn't tell

Her water is not being able to love you right
Yet
If anything could bring her back together

It's you.
cat marie Aug 2018
i always find you in the strangest places.
i find you in song lyrics, dog toys, and timber old spice.
i find you in chicken flavored ramen noodles, every shade of blue and purple, and horror movies.
i find you in rainbow coloring books, permanent markers, and colored pencils.
i find you in the grass at memorial park, folded slips of paper in my back pocket, and gourmet lollipops.
i find you in hot fudge sundaes, too-big tshirts, and icp snapbacks.
i find you in chik-fil-a receipts, gumball machines, and arcade games.
i find you in white roses, blue ribbons, animal crackers, and sour gummy worms.
i always find you in the strangest places.
but these strange places are everywhere.
ShamusDeyo Apr 2015
Oodles of Noodles and Broth
For not many Pennies Cost



All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Vince Chul'Theg Apr 2014
Put genitals in your mouth
No one bats an eye
Eat a chip off the floor
After five seconds
People lose their ****

Whirl down Cupid’s Hill
Post office bound
Island air and golden sun bars
Through moon roof

Corner pocket
Western union
Mow down island dogs
Kintaro

Please mow down as many as possible
You love dogs?
I do too.

But, no, it’s the humane thing to do
Otherwise they cry all night
With suicide eyes
But no pointer fingers to
Pull the trigger

Or tug-of-war
A baby piglet in half

Red spray painted
Toe nails

And
I lose sleep
And get nasty with
Unsuspecting writing students
All day Thursday

And
Besides
It’s not like they
Won’t be dinner for
Your neighbors
anyway

Be weary
Menwai are tricky here
Find one who is the ****
And spend your time with them

Better yet
Choose a westernized local
Someone who knows and
Respects both sides

Because
For some reason
Menwai lack any ******* semblance
Of depth and loyalty
In paradise

No, no
If you want integrity and honesty
A westernized local is the way to go
You dig

Because who knows if that
One Adonis
“Friend” of yours won’t
Keep a secret local girl friend
Locked away in his forbidden,
No trespassing 4TY apartment

And **** all the girlfriends
You confided your feelings in
For said
Statuesque Portland haling
Lawyer
“Friend”
In your apartment

Lies
Fairytales
And fallacies

Get me off this rock
If only for a weekend
On Black Coral or Nahlap

I can eat ramen for days
Ratted, greezy and
Scattered-*** ramen packs

Two Kool-aid red fingertips
Away from grasping
Something that at least
RESEMBLES confidence
And security

Because when your
“Curls and Gurls”
Best Peace Corps mate
Isn’t around to make you
Laugh till tears
Laugh at the absurdity
So that you can feel:
“At Last!
Grounded.”

You allow your brain and heart to
Meet in that covert cloud
Looming above
Decrepit Kolonia-town

But,
   But:

THE TEEJ MALI says:
More free
More free
So far surviving slum and street

Wearing these scars
Just as he is meant
To be

So you know ****’s
Gonna be alright

Soon
Anthony Caceres Apr 2015
Tokyo
By Anthony Caceres

Flashing lights, Flashing people
Blurs of the past come to haunt
Blurs of the present come to taunt
Blurs of the future come to flaunt
Sitting here by the bus stop
Watching people fly by like the airplanes above
Everybody set their bodies to fast forward
While I’m rewinding as slow as I can
Reading the latest manga as I get ****** into the lights
Like some late night ramen
I feel like I can walk on air
A skywalker
I can’t escape the death walkers
I know
But I can slow them down, to a point
With a late night text
and the horns of rampaging cars
Busses and Bikes
Awkward mannerisms
and long hikes
Tokyo is far away
But as long as your still here with me
Tokyo will forever stay

— The End —