"refills" poems
Wake up Mi Amor enjoy the Day to Come
Life isn't a sprint it's a marathon run
Hold yourself together through the good and bad
As we ride the roller coaster of happy and sad
Emotion like weather here comes a storm
Take shelter in me I'll keep you warm
We can take a trip don't worry about money
Lounge all day feed you when you're hungry
A picnic for two with a bottle of wine
Relax read a book as day unwinds
Refills of affection overflows your cup
In a daze as we gaze to deep..
Peaceful sleep I'd hate to disrupt
Return to me my love
It's time to wake up..
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
The short-order cook and the dishwasher
argue the relative merits
of Rilke’s Elegies
against Eliot’s Four Quartets,
but the delivery man who brings eggs
suggests they have forgotten Les fleurs
du mal and Baudelaire. The waitress
carrying three plates and a coffee ***
can’t decide whom she loves more—
Rimbaud or Verlaine,
William Blake or William Wordsworth.
She refills the rabbi’s cup
(he’s reading Rumi),
asks what he thinks of Arthur Whaley.
In the booth behind them, a fat woman
feeds a small white poodle in her lap,
with whom she shares her spoon.
"It’s Rexroth’s translations of the Japanese,"
she says, "that one can’t live without:
May those who are born after me
Never travel such roads of love."
The revolving door proffers
a stranger in a long black coat, lost in the madhouse poems of John Clare.
As he waits to be seated,
the woman who owns the place
hands him a menu
in which he finds several handwritten poems
By Hafiz, Gibran, and Rabindranath Tagore.
The lunch hour’s crowded—
the owner wonders
if the stranger might share
my table. As he sits,
I put a finger to my lips,
and with my eyes ask him
to listen with me
to the young boy and the young girl
two tables away
taking turns reading aloud
the love poems of Pablo Neruda.
4.9k
Poetry is my getaway
Every thought that comes to mind
Has a story to tell
At the end of the day
When I make time for poetry
It takes my mind away
Away from the stress
The worry
The hustle
And bustle of the day
It allows my mind to slow down
To rest
To rest for the next day
Like a train route that runs all day and night
Busy working
Getting things done
Then it’s time to wrap up for the night
Or like a water machine,
Filling everyone’s cup
And not until the last person comes for a cup
That you notice that you’re empty
Did they notice?-
Did they care to refill you?
But at night when I snuggle up
I grab my notebook
I escape
It soothes me
It’s refills me for the next day-
Off I go
To my poetry getaway
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 1:12 AM UTC
The television is on with the football game
blaring from the speakers with people crowded around
screaming out plays, and insults. Jumping up and down until
the popcorn and beer a spilled and it's time for refills.
The kitchen is a mess. Packed full of chips and dip, pizza and coke.
It’s become a free-for-all. An all-you-can eat buffet.
Candles scent the air and lamps light the way
When you come, you won’t want to leave
Because it feels right. Because it fits.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 5:06 PM UTC
Tracing smoke with dry ice fingertips,
I hold my breath and begin to float.
The heat of a bellies past burden
steams to my head, until I begin to rise.
No where to go, except everywhere I'm late,
so I drift along a black and blue sky pretending
to be a storm. Pressing clouds into my skin
that slowly evaporate into recovery along the way.
Unconscious and shattered, I land where I've
always been. Cloaked in dew drop kisses and
pink morning yawns, I could pull the earth over
my head just to snooze into eternity.
But there's a mouth at my neck, breathing sticky
lies and humid affairs. Each whisper a grain of
sand, filling my vision with a million fragments of fog.
Blurring what ever I was and who ever I will become.
I drink shape shifting water that always refills as
***** lubricating contorted lust and pages that
won't burn. Scraping scabs for clues and emptying
all my pockets for loose change as a compass for hope.
Slippery slumber, the hot air rises to make room for
cold confrontation and chilling truths. On every
surface you'll find manic scribbles that feel
like immortal truths
bleeding from my fingertips,
only to wake in silence with no resolution.
Just the melodic drone of recycled air from the AC.
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 7:51 PM UTC
My words wrapped in a chain
Restricting my choked refrain
Fear the words i say
Cutting deep into your way
The Warm blood spills
Take it away before it refills
The blood of the fearful,the blood of the sheep
It's for them we weep
You are leeches that **** out our blood
Leaving us in **** and mud
Were taking it all back
Before it turns black
Tangling us in your web of lies
We see through your disguise
We know what you are
You've made it this far
The grass will still grow
And the wind will still blow
But you will be gone and forgotten
Dead decayed and rotten
A new day will dawn
We will stay and you will be gone
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 6:34 PM UTC
the doctor cautioned me…
no rough S?x my boy, your coeur très ancien,
ain’t up to the task, in fact, i urge you to forgo
the goings on you love to write about, leave them
words on the page, six to eight inches (!) from the
tippy part of your…nose; for distance makes the heart
grow fonder, life longer, when you ticker gets that
‘lost that loving feeling’, keep it lost for now, cause
I no longer make home visitations and cancelled,
I did, the refills on your ****** scrip, keep your loving
confined to the twenty six alpa-bets, so you grow
old, well, alive, cursing my name repeatedly with
a strong God **** and I’m sure He’ll be listening,
cause I know He appreciates a **** good poem!
Jul 20, 2023
Jul 20, 2023 at 8:48 AM UTC
A glass cup sits on a table,
Five inches tall and smooth walls,
Plain, ordinary, transparent,
Water filled to the rim,
Glistening, clean, and pure.
A thirsty man sees the cup,
Gets excited and reaches out,
Be gentle, he says to himself,
But the water still spills,
It was filled to the the rim, you see.
A few drops fell onto the table,
But it's only a few,
Only a few drops slipped,
Only a few drops gone,
Only a few drops missed.
The man takes a gulp,
Quenching his thirst,
The water is no longer pure,
He takes another gulp,
The cup is no longer clean,
Another and another,
Until a sliver is left.
The man refills the cup,
With something he likes,
Slightly below the rim this time,
The liquid is no longer clear,
But the glass still transparent.
The man takes another gulp,
Another and a few sips,
Until there is two inches left,
He abandons the cup,
Unfinished.
A glass cup sits on a table,
Filled less than halfway,
Opaque and unclean,
It stands on the table,
Among clean water,
Spilled from before.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
That feeling that you get when you drop the last bit of your ice cream cone.
When you think you lost your phone and it's in your back pocket.
When you simply can't find your glasses, which are on your head.
When you trip over a painted line.
When your bookmark falls out of your book.
When you think there's an extra step at the top of the stairs.
When you think there's an extra step at the bottom of the stairs.
When you conveniently keep hitting a newly formed bruise.
When you can't find a matching sock.
When you accidentally press send before you're ready.
When you break a hair tie.
When you step in a deceivingly large puddle.
When you get a paper cut.
When you scratch a CD/DVD.
When you sing along to a song you hate.
When someone steps on the back of your shoe.
When someone's tag is sticking out.
When someone's a loud chewer or chews with their mouth open.
When your hair blows around and gets stuck in your gum or chap stuff on your lips.
When you stain your clothes.
When you lose an earring.
When you run out of cream for your coffee.
When you get to E in your gas tank.
When you step in gum.
When you sit on hot leather seats.
When you sit on wicker furniture with shorts on.
When you get shampoo in your eye.
When the soap is so small it crumbles to pieces.
When no one refills the toilet paper.
When someone sticks the milk or juice back in the fridge with half a sip left.
When you can't for the life of you think of the name of something.
When you forget how to spell simple words.
When you have to walk barefoot on hot pavement.
When you get an awkward sun tan.
When you forget to reapply.
When you get fingerprints on your glasses.
When someone spoils a movie or TV show.
When your favorite character dies (love you Sirius).
When you have an itch with a cast on.
When you can't open a combination lock.
When you hear a mosquito in your ear.
When you drop your change everywhere.
When you smudge your nails right after painting them.
When the Bruins lose.
When the end of your jeans fray.
When you get hat head.
When you get shocked by inanimate objects or people.
When you (re)realize there will never be a new Harry Potter book.
When you have something stuck in your teeth.
When you can't fall asleep at night.
When you can't turn your mind off.
When your phone decides to shut itself off.
When you have a cord that just isn't long enough.
When time after time I have to remind myself that you aren't who I thought you were.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
In flashes,
her face dances
on top of a
broomstick body.
She refills
coffee cups and
her stomach with
butter pecan ice cream
and lovers' saliva.
But her lovers are
strangers
and her mouth is a
place
where secrets are locked
behind smoke stained teeth.
In flashes,
her ambitions escape
into the jet black night.
Cigarettes dropping like
sputtering fruit flies.
A size seven New Balance
buries a Marlboro corpse,
burning out like the light
in her kiwi eyes.
She returns to the diner.
What echoes reign free.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
Driving off onto the 101 rush hour concrete jungle, there are no exits,
only obligations to stay stuck in my mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow.
Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity,
they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels.
Gray blocks hollow until they're filled with my humanity,
making me take the choices reaped with devils.
I feel like I've lived a day in one hour, it's so early it could be midnight.
Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane.
I'm at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow.
The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1.
We have to go. I'm almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear.
So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight.
There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to **** There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I'll rattle the hills.
Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80's movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast.
This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.”
Stepping into society, I'm a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom.
Halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammarys and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities.
5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I've turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinitely, literally making synergies out of life-energies.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
(be-tween and be-twixt)
———-
the most precious but precarious item
in our possess, value far above rubies,
this love overflows, but it drowns me
from within, for it has no home for
pleasured sharing and goes wasted, excreted
in tears and exhalations without destination
condition incurable, and the doctor advises,
projects, a life span rangebound from
***be-tween
and
be-twixt,***
imperative that this love be
disbursed, pressure relieved,
fluid and gases shared,
send it forth,
Doc behests,
nay,
begs,
you’re a decent human,
tell your tales,
follow your motto,
write those love poems,
always leave them laughing,
and give them love in smiles
all-the-whiles
bringing joyous relief to your clogged arteries,
all this the bare minimum,
for you must moreover grasp and clasp
your body to another, for this
the best transfer transfusion
of all your needed love needs
go be needed, be great, be lessened,
be all three
and never walk alone,
with just hope in your heart,
for the heart, automatically refills,
and this the best, medical opinion…
for all those with too many love poems
requiring expulsion and extrusion
Jul 22, 2023
Jul 22, 2023 at 9:14 AM UTC
Life flows through the doors,
Dispersed by the ceiling fan,
A makeover for every patron,
The waitress serves a second chance.
Ex-husband but current parent,
Negotiating with a teenage daughter,
Two untouched lunch plates,
As the gap grows further and further.
Central focus being on a book cover,
Held by an E.R nurse still in her scrubs,
The waitress tries to decipher a meaning,
All while wiping leftovers from table tops.
The calender on the wall says Friday,
And in walks a sundress along with a button down,
Two steaks and a red rose,
Right up comes the waitress with a dinner to astound.
Beginnings and ends in motion,
The clock cues for the 40-something man,
In the far corner he sips his black coffee,
Forlorn eyes of a widow staring at a wedding band.
Wiping beads of sweat from her forehead,
Retying her hair into a secured knot,
Exhaustion slowly kicking in,
As she refills the coffee ***
The college girl strolling in with her book bag,
Smiles with pity at her as she gives her order,
She thinks of how her minimum wage must look,
But her love for her job makes her smile never falter.
Days are something treasured,
Every hour, a different movie plays,
She collects all those stories,
With the tip left after the customer pays.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
Early one morning in a small cafe
I wanted to disappear so I came here
With only a dollar to my name
The waitress was friendly and brought me some coffee
Thank goodness the refills were free
She didn't ask any questions just simple conversation
It is like she knew exactly what I did need
She brought me a plate of bacon before I could resist
Then smiled sweetly and said "this plate will never be missed"
This waitress made me believe in people again and humankind
All because of simple kindness and for giving me a moment of her time
To this day whenever I smell bacon cannot help think of her and smile :)
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
What's it like loving you
If you feel the need to ask
It's like being offered refills
Before your halfway through the glass
The freedom felt by a superhero
When he puts on the mask
That's what it's like loving you
If you feel the need to ask
What's it like loving you
Allow me to explain
It's like the first sight of your blushing bride
On your wedding day
It's like all the love you've stored up
The moment you give it away
That's what it's like loving you
Is the best way to explain
What's it like loving you
Thought you might want to know
It's like standing in the bright sunshine
And basking in it's glow
It's like hearing your favorite song
Played twice in a row on the radio
That's what it's like loving you
Thought you might want to know
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
wax runs slowly from his candle
as ink flows freely from his pen
daydreams stretched out on his anvil
where each word he hammers into rhythm
with skill he’s tooling an ode of mourning
beside his fire lies a sonnet undone
paintings of prose around him are scattered
and unframed verses his walls adorn
a haiku sweet graces his table
a ballad long covers his floor
his home already filled to overflowing
one wonders if there is room for more
he’s unable to sell them, try as he might
though each skillfully crafted is a work of art
still driven he labors long into the night
his blood turns to ink as he pours out his heart
down at the market where men sell their wares
poems fetch only a penny a line
he’s chosen a craft that a pittance pays
he’ll have to settle for a book of rhymes
his inkwell low he walks down to the store
where he refills his stock of whiskey and wine
exchanging his farthings for bread and butter
and a chance at a glance of a fair lass fine
she, his inspiration, and fuel to his fire
yet she’ll ne'er know, she’s his psalm to be sung
so on marches time and their verse can't be written
for his words flow on page, just not from his tongue
so the wax keeps running from his candle dim
the ink from this wordsmith continues to flow
his daydreams he hammers over his anvil
but prose they might have written we’ll never know
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
One day at a time
My Mom's the strongest
At alcoholics annonimous
One day at a time
I count my pills
Doctor hopping prevents the chills
They keep her going
Her AA peers
Four months in, without a beer
They keep me going
Addies, I'm wide awake
Kolonopin, come reduce my shakes
So proud of you
As I look in her eyes
New innocence within her mind
So proud of you
Her oldest son
Living lie, I am one
Can't sit still, feelings overflowing
I grab a pill, my cravings growing
Trick all my doctors with false symptoms
Just to control my nervous system
They say life has ups and downs
When I'm down, I pop some ups
Pop the downs when my heart erupts
My morals gone, I am corrupt
One day at a time
Made that motto evil
One day at a time
Countdown to my refills
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
Girl waits anxiously,
Foot bouncing
Hands tapping
Mind in overdrive.
The woman in charge
Has her hair shaved on both sides
And tattoos covering her torso.
She takes two smoke breaks
And decides she might as well get paid.
Science? On your body? Whatever. Get in.
The girl holds out her foot
Pink and white and black
Ready and willing
To be punctured
Like the god's coloring book.
She talks to drown out the nerves.
Her friend follows
Awkwardly? Quietly?
Holds out fingers
To be used in case of emergency.
The first gets a vise grip on them
She starts singing pop-culture
From decades past to distract.
It just seems out-of-place.
The woman pays no attention.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Refills her ink
As an artist must have supplies.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She loves these needles
That penetrate and alter.
Allow the body to be a canvas
Both practical and beautiful.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
The girl's hand sweats
Death grips do that, I hear.
She has to wipe it off more than once.
Her friend is being little help.
She cringes!
Needle got close to bone
To nerves.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She finishes
Puts away her needles
And her ink
Cleans her canvas
Though this was not her favorite artwork.
She sends them out.
She hobbles
Foot newly changed.
Human symbols now visible,
She is no longer just earth.
Her friend follows.
She now has the mark of humanity
Of science
Of society
Forever on her skin.
She now belongs to the world.
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 8:40 AM UTC
.
Dear Patient,
Here’s the prescription
I promised to write
Just like any doctor might do
*An extended leave
A southern location
A room with a beautiful view
A candlelit dinner
Moonlight and roses
A bottle of chilled chardonnay
Romantic music
Soft summer kisses
Sending your worries away
The one of your dreams
An evening together
Love on a warm summer night
A sunrise good morning
Breakfast in bed
Satin sheets woven in white
A day in the sun
Drinks on the river
Affectionate moments for two*
Take all you need
There’s no expiration
Unlimited refills for you
Signed,
Your Poetic Physician
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
sometimes when you meet someone
the heart beats faster
there's nothing better
I can't wait to see you again
feeling more alive these days
awake in this outer space
seeing double vision
a bird you can't touch
close my eyes and feel the sun
i feel it's only just begun
feels like summer in my heart
with trees taller than earth
that genuine smile gives me chills
I want unlimited refills
there's nothing I wouldn't give
to hold you close again.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
Getting on
through a trying work hour in the night-time rush,
groped by strangers with dark eyes
the color of neglect and whiskey.
Men with knives under their sleeves,
calling you back and back again,
refills for their poison and pretzels for the table,
don't be a ***** darling.
I only want to feel those hands trembling
under mine.
All you ever knew were the bruises and the burns.
Gliding closer and closer to
your face, your hands,
inching towards the skin that gleams, exposed
and invokes the shame you feel from
fetid breath on your neck, these
animals with moldering livers.
but another round for the men in the grease and grime.
Green bottles and a smile that said
'I like the taste of your weakness,
You like the abuse.'
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
I’m sick of watching them squirm on the floor.
But it never ends, I always want more.
Once the feeling seeds,
it’s put on the list of needs.
Is it shameful?
Or is it natural?
I have a needle I can’t get rid of.
It refills itself after each use for free.
It’s plunger is pulled back so easily.
Anything over the course of the day.
Can fill it’s tube with lives.
Can’t help but push it forward.
Release.
It ends not so clean,
Because I am ****** Machine.
Aug 24, 2021
Aug 24, 2021 at 1:54 AM UTC
Love-Dust.
A heart's entrance door
opens only from inside to outwards
and once ajar, before
blinking at expressive freedom sees
love's unknown wonder.
Soul- secrets when told will astound
love's doubt through
meant whispers into dreamer's ears
then pour nectar over
each fur-lined ache of hurting need
as Cupid refills fonts
with sating love-dust. until slaked
is thirst by no more want.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:03 AM UTC
Arteries benumbed
Reading pharmaceutical's inserts no fun
Reading your mind even worse
Print so small
Foldings such as a roadmap
Those molecular models delineated
Moods might just as well be
Translating cuneiform
You wedge-shape marks on me
Deceptive blinks cut my clayey gray matter
That mascara you wear
Like kajal on Persian Princess
Ovular pills with spider legs
How do I defend from?
Enigmatical ellipses
Narcotic exotic
I look for, but find no
Adjoining pamphlets or warnings
To all your strange side-effects
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
I know, that night, lying on our magic carpet
in the quarter-light, floating in our little dorm,
we cared not about those details
that bother when in broad daylight,
we didn’t mind the improprieties
that pinch when in public spaces.
We were sailing close to the wind,
communicating through fingertips,
unknowing the memories that pricked…
We veered through a common dreamspace,
nestled into each others’ chests
and memorized the sounds they made…
Yes, that night I cried, like that bizarre fish
that refills its own pond of water,
copious tears that went over both our heads
and the carpet sank so deep
that all its magic went down with it.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC