Ramone poems on Hello Poetry

g clair Sep 2013

In my box, with rictus grin
they could not straighten with a pin~
I lay before my friends and folks
and seemed to smile at silent jokes~

and some did wonder, what was planned
but little could they understand
how I looked on from up above
and hovered over those I love~

it all went off without a hitch
the biker said I was a *****
and with that word, the motley crew,
they blocked the doors so none passed through~

They dimmed the lights, to set the mood
and turned the music down to 'brood'
and every guest then took a seat
and fanned the sweat of stinky feet.

The biker wiped his eyes, and said,
'It's very hard to see her dead,
but it should come as no surprise,
that Nagi, with her smiling eyes,

made this request of all her friends,
and here's the list, and there's some pens.
She'd like you all to listen, while
her written works are read 'in style'.

And if one title strikes a note
of relevance, is what she wrote,
then jot it down and pass it to
the one beside you in the pew.

and at the end of every row
stood someone with a basket though
it wasn't clear where this would go
my friends and family had to know

the basket filled to overflowing
you read the one you picked, not knowing
I was watching from on high
and busting out, my old laugh-cry

'Twas several hours that had passed
and people dying to be gassed
Could this one be the very last?
the final poem that Nagi cast?

The friends and folk of my rich past
applauded, it was done at last!
and headed for the open air,
and as they reached the doorway there~

a book was handed to each guest
My dying wish, you'd all be blessed,
and finally you would have, to own,
a coffee table book, a tome

And every poem I ever wrote
contained within the pages, note
the title, it was all my own
'The Forced Readings of
Nagi Ramone.'

Roger Turner - Poet Jan 2014

Deep Inside My Mind

Every now and then
I go deep inside my mind
Just to have a little rest
And see what I can find
I don't go in there often
It dark and I must say
That sometimes I'm afraid
That I may lose my way

There's a little corner café
Where Groucho sits alone
Stan Laurel sits there writing gags
And Greta Garbo sits and moans
Sinatra sings for all of them
John Lennon talks to God
Brian Jones gives swimming lessons
There's Liz Taylor and Mike Todd

Over in the distance
At a table in the corner
Hemmingway sells movie scripts
To mogul man Jack Warner
Elvis does a hip shake
Ruth and Gherig playing catch
Bud and Lou do Who's on First
Humphrey Bogart lights a  match

Charles Dickens playing darts
A red balloon comes floating by
Andy Warhol sits with Nico
Where German pop songs go to die
Marilyn and James Dean
Sit quietly talking on the stairs
John Kennedy and his brother Bob
Just pretend that they are both not there

Chico  plays piano and
Harpo  with his  harp
Bad jokes float around the room
being told by silent stars
Phil Everly and Phil Ramone
They're new here so they're woozy
Sit talking of the songs they'll miss
Rick Nelson sings of Susie

You see it is a mad mad place
in my head when I may wander
I don't go in too deep
And I've  met Henry Fonda
There's images, and icons
Family, and  friends
on a little street inside my head
That's a circle with no ends

Gavin Paul Boehm Jul 2013

Punk Rock Boys Need Lovin', Too

knock* knock
hi, we're the forgotten sons of punk rock
the product of one too many shots of Jello
with the Kennedys...
or was it the Romones...?
who knows we were all too ****** at a tv party that night
when Henry Rollins got into a fight
with some misfits and
minor threats
but I'll be ****** if by the end of it all
they weren't just a big circle of jerks listening to ******* down the hall
it was about this time that Johnny Ramone reached into his cereal box to claim his prize
and then
right before his very eyes he held a pair of x-ray spex
he put them on
but there were no effects
so he took them in his stiff little fingers and tossed them out the window
they landed near a gang of four addicts
who had just gotten high off some leftover crack
now... some may say that these guys have bad brains
or are simply sub-human
but we know for a fact that these are the unseen reagan youths who got swept under the carpet
and are now stuck in a metaphorical tar-pit
that we call their lives
but thinking about all that was putting a major downer on our night
so we turned away from the window sill
only to see Patti Smith baking gorilla biscuits for a night at the drive in
with Johnny Rotten and Iggy Pop
and I think they were gonna make some new descendants of punk rock
all of a sudden the party was crashed like a dance hall
and in our door stood 999 brooding adolescents
--and one screeching weasel
this once again set Henry Rollins off, with the Glenns (Danzig and Ginn) not far behind
there were some jawbreakers
and choking victims
and some dead boys were piled in a corner
but eventually everyone was sedated, we all embraced and we hit the town like a bunch of bigwigs
when we got outside, we couldn't believe our eyes
propaghandi polluted the skylines
for the now D.O.A. immigrants getting off the U.K. subs and the asian floats and the african boats to see
posters promoting the discharged germs from the media
pamphlets selling their bad religions
and banners telling us to be the agnostic front that allows a corrupt regime to keep a hold on our country for 7 seconds more...
those seconds turning into an eternity
of a government who would trade fresh fruit for rotting vegetables
so we decided to end this reign of fear
and put into action Operation Ivy
because we have our rites too
we're in the spring of our youth
so lets get a little socially distorted
we must rise against and raise our anti-flag
strike anywhere the conflict leads our dag-nasty cause
let that fire inside burn like a sunny day in an albino compound
let it fuel your bouncing souls
land a punch for the guttermouthed kids with their jaws wired shut
and if they still refuse to listen
**** painting the town red
we'll paint the world black
maybe then people will see the light

Cedric McClester Mar 2016

DEATH OF THE CHELSEA HOTEL

By: Cedric McClester

Don’t know what to say
Other than fairwell
Death has finally claimed
Another venerable hotel
Where everyone from
Sid Vicious to Dee Dee Ramone
At one time or another stayed
And called it their home

Requiem for the Chelsea
May she rest in peace
Now that all activity inside her
Has finally ceased
Closed for renovations
See we’ve heard that before
The death knell has been tolled
She ain’t coming back no more

Nevermore to open
In its present incarnation
Cos now the Chelsea’s history
Despite the acclamations
What the future holds
Is anybody’s guess
But if I’m forced to take one
I’d say condos at best

The Chelsea was a grand hotel
Back there in the day
Name me one musician
Who didn’t book a stay
The Chelsea was iconic
What else can I say
Except that it’s ironic
That it went down that way

Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.

Anna Lo Nov 2011

Experimental Untitled Muse.

In the month that I popped a pharmaceutical drug to feel better,

I smiled for the first time in months
at a lame joke,

I stopped worrying
about where I was going to be
if the zombie apocalypse was to happen,

I ceased feeling terrified
of waking up to the voice of Joey Ramone
to not want to be or feel anymore,

I wondered how Hemingway felt
as he stared at the glittering city lights of the Rive Gauche,
typing down his dark thoughts,

I walked to the blinking white silhouette of a tiny person across the street,
without hoping that the cars would magically skewer to the side
and consequentially crush my skull in,

I felt my heart enlarging like a balloon, while I stared into
his magnetic eyes,
that remind me of the glistening candlelit lights of Paris
after the war,

I craved the chocolate ice cream
my imaginary little brother bought me
while annoying me,

I listened to the world
and heard it's rambles and jangles
and knew that "every little thing is gonna be alright",

and I watch myself in the mirror
to realize that I
this person staring back at me is a shell
enveloping in the shock at my utter disbelief
that I don't know who I am anymore.

Perhaps somewhere out there,
in a parallel universe,
wherein lies reality or fantasy,
I have already given up
and is watching me here
to mock me.

I've decided to make this poem not flow in tone and rhythm. Unwise choice, I know, but I'm experimental and hopefully get some muse off this in a future date?

Wuji Mar 2012

Crazy Pair

Drove half an hour,
To get to your home.
Waited for you to get back,
My nerves had begun to show.

How would your family like me?
Was your dad an ***?
Would it be awkward out of school?
Who would move fast?

Went on inside,
Father was very kind,
Sister was like you,
All of us out of our minds!

Played with your rats,
Even cleaned their cage.
Laughed the whole time with you,
Not even a year apart in age.

Relaxed on the couch,
My hands rested on your thighs.
Held you in my arms,
You are just the right size.

Called weird phone numbers,
Laughed the day away.
Listened to your record player,
To hear what Billy Idol had to say.

Sister called me a punk rocker,
Said I looked like a Ramone.
You said it was a complement,
I didn't feel so alone.

Made fun of my accent,
But liked the way I talked.
Looked so nice out,
We all went for a walk.

Trespassed onto a country club,
We chilled at one of the holes.
Goofed off for an hour,
Before we ran from the patrol.

Journeyed through the woods,
To get back home.
Thorn bushes cut up my right arm,
And got my hair quite combed.

Made it to an abandoned car,
She and I took a break.
Sat there in the car and laughed,
Until the end of the date.

My family had arrived,
And we went inside for my stuff.
A hug goodbye,
Would have been enough.

But you surprised me,
And grabbed onto my shoulders.
Leaned in for a kiss,
And she got what she asked for.

Grinning ear to ear,
I left with a "Goodbye".
Walked to the car,
Knowing I wanted her to be mine.

A new chapter. :)

jennifer ann Sep 2014

paranoia chapter one

"moving on & moving in"

Charlotte sighed as she looked around her bedroom in the attict. there had been nothing left for her in the small town anymore. nothing but haunting memories, dark and blurry. reminders of her losses. & all of the things that could have been, should have been, and now never would be. memories that she used to treasure, now almost non-existant. & she hadn't been sure if it had been from all of the partying, or if it had been her minds way of trying to protect her from them. charlotte sealed up another box with tape which read "posters". so far charlotte had packed 8 boxes, 6 of which read posters aswell. all four walls had been covered with them, posters of beautiful places, song lyrics, and all of the rockstars that she adored. shaun morgan, kurt cobain, aaron lewis. joey ramone, alice cooper. she had basically spent all of her time there since Charlies death. listening to music, getting lost in the words of her favorite artists and authors. or poems and stories that she would write herself. when charlie died, charlotte checked out. almost as if she had died right along with him.

Jamie F Nugent May 2016

That's Why They Got On So Well

He was a Beatle and she was a Stone,
She was a Pistol and he was a Ramone.

Keenon Brice Oct 2016

10/8

So many bumps in the unfolding of a day,
a month,
a year,
a series of eclipses
brought me to an inner caving

to become reunited with the fact that i am on a path going somewhere, i do not know;

desperately trying to retain scraps of the past
in the efforts of a sense of longevity,
my life has become absorbed by the feeling that i lack it

its a nice try
but you can't really force anything
its no longer for a reason
it wouldn't be your past if you were still living in it

elements still remain the same
but you don't listen to the ramone's anymore
or watch horror movies and existential dramas on a daily basis

that energy though, that desire for that energy
that release,
that expression
is still there; its just transformed.

you didn't lose anything,
you just went to the next level.

its just this need to be so extreme, still
the need to busy myself
to fill up the time w/ new things.

why not just embrace the coming and going?
the subtlety of it
why does that have to be "death" as we know it?
the going of the old and coming of the new

after ever having never been a beach person, i now realize that it is a setting for the embracing of the state (event) of transition

i guess that's why i've been being attracted to it, and the moon;
to water.

theres so much ebb and flow.
the being "ruled" by "something"
"something" so much larger than you
but i am brought back down to the imagery of the here and now,
of my basement,
to the need for me to cast my life out like a fishing line;
to stop eating the words of others in hopes of sustenance.
to stop eating their poison,
depression;
illness; inner decay

to take the sins of others off the menu.

Can that realization be enough?
that i don't want to devour anything, anymore

Learning to not devour worlds as a life lesson.

and knowing that the world i want to be in
is the one of reminding myself that it's okay to wander,
a world of nurturance
of feeding and being fed.

— The End —