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"remotes" poems
2002: today i kicked the door to history off it's hinges my jealous frame: still too proud to say a word it seems my folks forgot to pencil in growth marks cause they thought their boy would never grow out of small breath ******* dead, years now buried and i bare his name too many syllables for my father to go back fish & play football to stand in the yard and play catch 1994: my mom, the bombshell in retrospect broke her back in her sleep a thousand times since the stairwell in 87' she still sits for spills post nuclear about settling now from the couch she's a weather report spouting nonsense that makes my father grow grey, crack remotes & slam doors to dark rooms abandoning ship for "cheers" & "scienfeld" while my mother sometimes forgets and sets his place at the table and my appetite is abducted by family photos my mother says things like "go see your brother today" -- Johnny's long gone don't you remember? we buried him the day your smile died 2014: you are inches from me ********* a stray hair caught in the fabric of your coat the last remnants of a dog we laid to rest last week and here we are in the hospital again people don't shake like dogs finality is found in the eyes of humans passing archways into shallow rooms where plague and prayer are the only songs sung round the stagnant clocks it makes me wonder if the clipboards cry over being the last thing someone ever writes on take a number, have a seat stay a while i am back, 7 years old & there are different doors now they buried the ones you kicked in that night in '92 when my lungs were filled with holy water you never stopped smoking i never grew out of asthma
0
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
TomLeveille
it's the little wars that **** us
2002: today i kicked the door to history off it's hinges my jealous frame: still too proud to say a word it seems my folks forgot to pencil in growth marks cause they thought their boy would never grow out of small breath ******* dead, years now buried and i bare his name too many syllables for my father to go back fish & play football to stand in the yard and play catch 1994: my mom, the bombshell in retrospect broke her back in her sleep a thousand times since the stairwell in 87' she still sits for spills post nuclear about settling now from the couch she's a weather report spouting nonsense that makes my father grow grey, crack remotes & slam doors to dark rooms abandoning ship for "cheers" & "scienfeld" while my mother sometimes forgets and sets his place at the table and my appetite is abducted by family photos my mother says things like "go see your brother today" -- Johnny's long gone don't you remember? we buried him the day your smile died 2014: you are inches from me ********* a stray hair caught in the fabric of your coat the last remnants of a dog we laid to rest last week and here we are in the hospital again people don't shake like dogs finality is found in the eyes of humans passing archways into shallow rooms where plague and prayer are the only songs sung round the stagnant clocks it makes me wonder if the clipboards cry over being the last thing someone ever writes on take a number, have a seat stay a while i am back, 7 years old & there are different doors now they buried the ones you kicked in that night in '92 when my lungs were filled with holy water you never stopped smoking i never grew out of asthma
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71
I'll be here for infinity x infinity A penchant for curves like cursives I say it in my verses Vocab too wide for curses Don't like likes Fingers to whoever dislike Like a vlogger: share, comment, and like Oh yeah, subscribe Fun, I prescribe Right on time Better late than never Man of the hour Original with the flavour Chocolate and Vanilla Black and grey If you're too slow to comprehend No résumé No references DIY my title says Fickle fools play 'Simon Says' Press remotes don't change but Batteries can be replaced all the same God - like Holier - than - thou; Pope's attitude, beg for mercy Self - driven, self - motivated Ministering like Osteen Light and dark Yin & Yang Angel or demon I can be High off life Limitless, no pills I'm probably ill Well it's my will To count millions in $100 bills Like ice, I chill That's me, trill And that's that Suh bill LanceSkiies
0
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
LanceSkiies
FREEStyle
I'll be here for infinity x infinity A penchant for curves like cursives I say it in my verses Vocab too wide for curses Don't like likes Fingers to whoever dislike Like a vlogger: share, comment, and like Oh yeah, subscribe Fun, I prescribe Right on time Better late than never Man of the hour Original with the flavour Chocolate and Vanilla Black and grey If you're too slow to comprehend No résumé No references DIY my title says Fickle fools play 'Simon Says' Press remotes don't change but Batteries can be replaced all the same God - like Holier - than - thou; Pope's attitude, beg for mercy Self - driven, self - motivated Ministering like Osteen Light and dark Yin & Yang Angel or demon I can be High off life Limitless, no pills I'm probably ill Well it's my will To count millions in $100 bills Like ice, I chill That's me, trill And that's that Suh bill LanceSkiies
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39
My Grandmother's Hands My Grandmother's hands told many tales Of scrubbing steps and broken nails Hand-washing clothes in enamel sink Red football socks turned white towels pink When not baking cakes at the old gas stove Rag-rugs with old scraps of material she wove Pantry shelves filled with powdered egg Homemade rice pudding sprinkled with nutmeg Sea-coal burning on an open coal fire Bread on a toasting fork burning like a pyre Grandma plumping up pillows from beneath granda’s head Applying ointment to sores caused by being confined to bed Hours spent at auctions bidding with her hand Buying an incomplete bed wasn't what she planned Back home in time for tea, crumpets and homemade strawberry jam, I can still recall the smell of it, bubbling in the pan Switching tv channels with a flick of her wrist That’s how we did it back then, when remotes did not exist Working hard all of her life, meeting everyone's demands Every line and wrinkle told a story On my Grandmother's hands
0
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
jenny-linsel
My Grandmother's Hands
My Grandmother's Hands My Grandmother's hands told many tales Of scrubbing steps and broken nails Hand-washing clothes in enamel sink Red football socks turned white towels pink When not baking cakes at the old gas stove Rag-rugs with old scraps of material she wove Pantry shelves filled with powdered egg Homemade rice pudding sprinkled with nutmeg Sea-coal burning on an open coal fire Bread on a toasting fork burning like a pyre Grandma plumping up pillows from beneath granda’s head Applying ointment to sores caused by being confined to bed Hours spent at auctions bidding with her hand Buying an incomplete bed wasn't what she planned Back home in time for tea, crumpets and homemade strawberry jam, I can still recall the smell of it, bubbling in the pan Switching tv channels with a flick of her wrist That’s how we did it back then, when remotes did not exist Working hard all of her life, meeting everyone's demands Every line and wrinkle told a story On my Grandmother's hands
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22
A ***** couch rests in the living room, Like an old green stump.   Worn from too many soap operas and football games The pillows droop like tired eyelids.   The smell of exhaustion and grime clings to the well-worn skin That itches if you get too close. Dog hair is sprinkled across the cushions Along with mysterious stains and crusty popcorn between seats.   It gobbles up change, remotes and secrets. Far from a fairy-tale throne It has as much romance as a sock. But since the bedroom was off-limits, It would have to do.
0
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
emily-williams
Ode to a Couch (and a mediocre hookup)
A ***** couch rests in the living room, Like an old green stump.   Worn from too many soap operas and football games The pillows droop like tired eyelids.   The smell of exhaustion and grime clings to the well-worn skin That itches if you get too close. Dog hair is sprinkled across the cushions Along with mysterious stains and crusty popcorn between seats.   It gobbles up change, remotes and secrets. Far from a fairy-tale throne It has as much romance as a sock. But since the bedroom was off-limits, It would have to do.
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13
“Disaster Dan” skids into the Center's Game Room War Room Control Room Fueled by a red T-shirt proclaiming “Vince the Pizza Prince” He flips out his cellular... “IT ISN'T UP TO ME!" (Where does he get all those broken remotes?) ...flips open his cell and shouts commands “TURN THE POWER ON!" “YA HEARD ME!" (He is totally in control) “Fsssss    Fssssss   Fsssssss THE PIPES ARE ABOUT TO BLOW!” Drives his cruiser around the pool table Pulls alongside Fixes me point-blank and cockeyed “GET THESE KIDS OUTA THE BUILDING! THERE'S A BOMB ABOUT TA GO OFF!” An eight-year-old spins iz finger round iz ear and points a giggle Dan-- the kind of guy whose life peaked at Mount Saint Helen Does a warlock for Halloween Carries a portable showcase of horror prized possessions in a dishpan He explains his treasures “That is NOT a plastic scorpion!” Offended by my ignorance shoves it in my eyes “THIS IS A PREDATOR ALIEN, STUPID!" “CALIFORNIA WILL NOT COME BACK!" Dan sorta likes me We talk horror flicks He forbids the serious of me "CALIFORNIA WILL FALL OFF INTO THE OCEAN!” he hisses in a spray of spit Walks way, laughing, delighted! Shaking iz head Then back in my face again (for emphasis) “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" (He is dead serious) "THE GUY THAT CAUSED THAT HURRICANE WAS PAUL MCCARTNEY!" His counselor fills in my blank “Dan likes the Beatles That's the only thing he likes that isn't heinous”
0
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC
elizabeth-balise
Well-Bound Predator/Flame 'O UFOs/Godzilla
“Disaster Dan” skids into the Center's Game Room War Room Control Room Fueled by a red T-shirt proclaiming “Vince the Pizza Prince” He flips out his cellular... “IT ISN'T UP TO ME!" (Where does he get all those broken remotes?) ...flips open his cell and shouts commands “TURN THE POWER ON!" “YA HEARD ME!" (He is totally in control) “Fsssss    Fssssss   Fsssssss THE PIPES ARE ABOUT TO BLOW!” Drives his cruiser around the pool table Pulls alongside Fixes me point-blank and cockeyed “GET THESE KIDS OUTA THE BUILDING! THERE'S A BOMB ABOUT TA GO OFF!” An eight-year-old spins iz finger round iz ear and points a giggle Dan-- the kind of guy whose life peaked at Mount Saint Helen Does a warlock for Halloween Carries a portable showcase of horror prized possessions in a dishpan He explains his treasures “That is NOT a plastic scorpion!” Offended by my ignorance shoves it in my eyes “THIS IS A PREDATOR ALIEN, STUPID!" “CALIFORNIA WILL NOT COME BACK!" Dan sorta likes me We talk horror flicks He forbids the serious of me "CALIFORNIA WILL FALL OFF INTO THE OCEAN!” he hisses in a spray of spit Walks way, laughing, delighted! Shaking iz head Then back in my face again (for emphasis) “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" (He is dead serious) "THE GUY THAT CAUSED THAT HURRICANE WAS PAUL MCCARTNEY!" His counselor fills in my blank “Dan likes the Beatles That's the only thing he likes that isn't heinous”
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51
who would have thought i would become so obsessed with clean? not my mother, who’d nag me to pick up all the clothes scattered across my bedroom nearly every day of ninth grade. we rarely saw the floor. i’d sleep beneath books and laundry on my half-made bed. now i scrub dishes, scrub counters, scrub the floor at night because i can’t stand the thought of a ***** kitchen—little cockroaches scurrying in and out of pots and pans. my home smells of lavender oil, a soft mist, air cleansed by a pink-glowing himalayan salt lamp and plants in the living room. now i put things away in drawers, close doors of rooms that are the slightest bit messy. now i straighten books on the coffee table, set the remotes parallel to one another, everything must be in place. now i floss, wash my face every night, stare in the mirror and repeat i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i burn my skin in the shower, inhale the steam until my breathing is slow and my sinuses are clear. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i fold the laundry, stack our clothes into two piles, his and mine. i make our bed, i organize our shoes by the door, i kiss the man i love goodnight. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. i know what my father must think, i know he loses sleep, i know there are holes in his tongue where his teeth have made a home. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. i know he wishes i still went to church, wishes my boyfriend believed in a god, wishes i was clean. i am clean, i am clean.
0
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
madisen
pure
who would have thought i would become so obsessed with clean? not my mother, who’d nag me to pick up all the clothes scattered across my bedroom nearly every day of ninth grade. we rarely saw the floor. i’d sleep beneath books and laundry on my half-made bed. now i scrub dishes, scrub counters, scrub the floor at night because i can’t stand the thought of a ***** kitchen—little cockroaches scurrying in and out of pots and pans. my home smells of lavender oil, a soft mist, air cleansed by a pink-glowing himalayan salt lamp and plants in the living room. now i put things away in drawers, close doors of rooms that are the slightest bit messy. now i straighten books on the coffee table, set the remotes parallel to one another, everything must be in place. now i floss, wash my face every night, stare in the mirror and repeat i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i burn my skin in the shower, inhale the steam until my breathing is slow and my sinuses are clear. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i fold the laundry, stack our clothes into two piles, his and mine. i make our bed, i organize our shoes by the door, i kiss the man i love goodnight. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. i know what my father must think, i know he loses sleep, i know there are holes in his tongue where his teeth have made a home. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. i know he wishes i still went to church, wishes my boyfriend believed in a god, wishes i was clean. i am clean, i am clean.
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22
you are everything you are everyone you are every cliche you are the sun, you are the stifling heat that cannot be escaped you are valentines cards misdirected and misshaped, you are hotmail, you are myspace, you are my face, hungover and exhausted, you are lost kids, you are something that was fun, you are not getting shotgun, you are beer that's been in the sun too long, you are a sad song, that's not been made better, you are the hole in my sweater, or my pockets, you are the chalky sugar that's passed off as rockets, you are the first drummer of the beatles, you are evil, and i don't mean that jokingly, you are choking me, like turtlenecks, or high stake bets, made on the wrong team, you are what seems like a good idea at the time, you are past tense, you are jeans caught in the fence preventing teens from sneaking in, you are cold wind on a dry winter's day, you are Coldplay's last two albums, you are too much talcum powder you are convenience store flowers, you are forced, you are hoarse voices in place of song, you are wrong, you are the weakest link, you are outdated references, you are beverages, that have lost carbonation, you are hesitation that leads to regret, you are the new york mets, you are first impressions that i make on the elderly, you are Beverly Hills Chihuahua, you are foie gras, you are aqua and their music in my head, you are cold beds, warm beer, empty freezers, old tears, fake appeasers, new fears, you are the moments when it feels like no one's near, you are searching for Waldo for hours, you are any buildings "bigger" than the cn tower, you are fake, you are first date awkward silence, you are last date awkward silence, you are violence, you are hybrid suvs, you are bees, you are black flies, you are forgetting an event is black tie, you are something nice to forget, you are socks that are wet, you are the slow driver in the left lane, you are fame, you are fleeting seconds never to be recaptured, you are the man on the corner screaming about rapture, you are actors selling out, you are stains on a couch, you are lost remotes, you are failed attempts to save face, you are everything that has ever graced this time and space, here and above, you are everything, you are love...
0
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
shawn
you are v. 2
you are everything you are everyone you are every cliche you are the sun, you are the stifling heat that cannot be escaped you are valentines cards misdirected and misshaped, you are hotmail, you are myspace, you are my face, hungover and exhausted, you are lost kids, you are something that was fun, you are not getting shotgun, you are beer that's been in the sun too long, you are a sad song, that's not been made better, you are the hole in my sweater, or my pockets, you are the chalky sugar that's passed off as rockets, you are the first drummer of the beatles, you are evil, and i don't mean that jokingly, you are choking me, like turtlenecks, or high stake bets, made on the wrong team, you are what seems like a good idea at the time, you are past tense, you are jeans caught in the fence preventing teens from sneaking in, you are cold wind on a dry winter's day, you are Coldplay's last two albums, you are too much talcum powder you are convenience store flowers, you are forced, you are hoarse voices in place of song, you are wrong, you are the weakest link, you are outdated references, you are beverages, that have lost carbonation, you are hesitation that leads to regret, you are the new york mets, you are first impressions that i make on the elderly, you are Beverly Hills Chihuahua, you are foie gras, you are aqua and their music in my head, you are cold beds, warm beer, empty freezers, old tears, fake appeasers, new fears, you are the moments when it feels like no one's near, you are searching for Waldo for hours, you are any buildings "bigger" than the cn tower, you are fake, you are first date awkward silence, you are last date awkward silence, you are violence, you are hybrid suvs, you are bees, you are black flies, you are forgetting an event is black tie, you are something nice to forget, you are socks that are wet, you are the slow driver in the left lane, you are fame, you are fleeting seconds never to be recaptured, you are the man on the corner screaming about rapture, you are actors selling out, you are stains on a couch, you are lost remotes, you are failed attempts to save face, you are everything that has ever graced this time and space, here and above, you are everything, you are love...
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93
Transferred attention some where else Then lost my train of thought, Added an item to my list Of stuff I should have bought. Forgot to say those silly things That make it all worth while, And found myself in jockey shorts With a lost and vacant smile. Left the toothbrush in the toilet And the razor in the lounge, Fed the dog the ****** cat food And the goldfish had to scrounge. Woke up early on the weekend And slept in late for work, Is it really any wonder That my wife has gone beserk ? Distracted moments come and go As life progresses on, But in these periods of bewilderment Have I come or have I gone ? The confusion is annoying It's like emerging from the mist And embarrassed explanations Leave my kid's expression ****** Conversations breeze along I'm having trouble with the terms The children utter gibberish Which I've no desire to learn. My old friends speak in whispers Quite impossible to hear And the clink of moving cutlery Keeps dinner parties from my ear. I guess a change is needed Maybe, a less demanding day, Where physicality is really secondary Where exhaustion doesn't play. Where the bodies limitations Are tempered to the task And a moderated output Is, perhaps, the best that you can ask. I've lost my sense of humour The world is racing by too fast, This mobile phone's a nightmare And ****** TV remotes I'm past. And whatever happened to coffee At my favourite Bridge cafe ? Now the order is for decaff, No cream, half strength, moccha frappe !! Age is such a ****** It's asset is it's stealth, One moment you're a titan The next you've lost your health. One moment you've got flowing locks The next you're bald and grim, Is it any ****** wonder That growing old is such a sin. Marshalg Grumping@theBach Mangere Bridge 10 August 2009
0
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
marshal-gebbie
Ageing
Transferred attention some where else Then lost my train of thought, Added an item to my list Of stuff I should have bought. Forgot to say those silly things That make it all worth while, And found myself in jockey shorts With a lost and vacant smile. Left the toothbrush in the toilet And the razor in the lounge, Fed the dog the ****** cat food And the goldfish had to scrounge. Woke up early on the weekend And slept in late for work, Is it really any wonder That my wife has gone beserk ? Distracted moments come and go As life progresses on, But in these periods of bewilderment Have I come or have I gone ? The confusion is annoying It's like emerging from the mist And embarrassed explanations Leave my kid's expression ****** Conversations breeze along I'm having trouble with the terms The children utter gibberish Which I've no desire to learn. My old friends speak in whispers Quite impossible to hear And the clink of moving cutlery Keeps dinner parties from my ear. I guess a change is needed Maybe, a less demanding day, Where physicality is really secondary Where exhaustion doesn't play. Where the bodies limitations Are tempered to the task And a moderated output Is, perhaps, the best that you can ask. I've lost my sense of humour The world is racing by too fast, This mobile phone's a nightmare And ****** TV remotes I'm past. And whatever happened to coffee At my favourite Bridge cafe ? Now the order is for decaff, No cream, half strength, moccha frappe !! Age is such a ****** It's asset is it's stealth, One moment you're a titan The next you've lost your health. One moment you've got flowing locks The next you're bald and grim, Is it any ****** wonder That growing old is such a sin. Marshalg Grumping@theBach Mangere Bridge 10 August 2009
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60
I have this dog, a huge great pooch, Just like the one, on Turner and ***** He really is a big orange lump, Dare I say how much he dumps, He shreds and ruins my favourite stuff, Covering the floor, in loads of fluff, TV remotes, he's chewed them up, He costs a bomb, my naughty pup, His snoring rattles the gates of hell, And when he farts, my gawd, the smell!, Don't let's forget, he loves his food, Face in your cup, slurp slurp, how rude, What's yours is his, he takes the **** I dare you say the word, "biscuit" He slobbers shoestrings, from his chops, Each room has a rag, for him to mop, But that aside, he has my heart, His crinkly face, and stinky farts, Rolling in fox mess on his daily stroll, Sniffing crotches, of those who call, I kiss his face off every day, I could never love a man this way, He has a face you want to snog, I really, really love this dog :)
0
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
jane-dale
The big silly orange dog
I have this dog, a huge great pooch, Just like the one, on Turner and ***** He really is a big orange lump, Dare I say how much he dumps, He shreds and ruins my favourite stuff, Covering the floor, in loads of fluff, TV remotes, he's chewed them up, He costs a bomb, my naughty pup, His snoring rattles the gates of hell, And when he farts, my gawd, the smell!, Don't let's forget, he loves his food, Face in your cup, slurp slurp, how rude, What's yours is his, he takes the **** I dare you say the word, "biscuit" He slobbers shoestrings, from his chops, Each room has a rag, for him to mop, But that aside, he has my heart, His crinkly face, and stinky farts, Rolling in fox mess on his daily stroll, Sniffing crotches, of those who call, I kiss his face off every day, I could never love a man this way, He has a face you want to snog, I really, really love this dog :)
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24
What a fix to be stuck on A sea of remotes  Controlling their channels (Channels really know How to pull people in. But not me. I just watch news.) Piles and piles and stacks  Of remotes Mangled up in cords  Around the main event: The TV. Back to that pile of remotes - All different kinds & controls There's a pink one With polka dots or chicken pox There's a swampy soggy one A grey tomb-stony one Etc., and whatnots What to do with all them? Control the tube, of course, But they all do that A little bit differently. "To hell with this white noise" I ****** up a chrome looking remote Soapstone it wasn't But cold cold cold still I pressed the red button near the front Blinked it didn't  But got stuck. I just stared in frustration For a long while, into that fuzzy screen. And then Out of the white noise A gigantic chrome razor-hand Came crashing through Pulling me in.
0
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 4:01 PM UTC
dev
T.V.
What a fix to be stuck on A sea of remotes  Controlling their channels (Channels really know How to pull people in. But not me. I just watch news.) Piles and piles and stacks  Of remotes Mangled up in cords  Around the main event: The TV. Back to that pile of remotes - All different kinds & controls There's a pink one With polka dots or chicken pox There's a swampy soggy one A grey tomb-stony one Etc., and whatnots What to do with all them? Control the tube, of course, But they all do that A little bit differently. "To hell with this white noise" I ****** up a chrome looking remote Soapstone it wasn't But cold cold cold still I pressed the red button near the front Blinked it didn't  But got stuck. I just stared in frustration For a long while, into that fuzzy screen. And then Out of the white noise A gigantic chrome razor-hand Came crashing through Pulling me in.
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36
Divisions of the night Each calculated the same Staccatoed bursts of sound At regular intervals Random quotes stick in my brain “Where is your favorite place to eat?” Limp beanbags lobbed at remotes in futile attempts to change reality. Fake drama as one non-sister complains to another that she will tell secrets to strangers but not to her family. But I am no stranger I follow her life hour after hour Her fake life in exchange for mine not lived except in flickering shadows. Another weekend wasted watching lives of the inane and ridiculous Which is still somehow better than watching mine
0
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
carla-blaschka
The Marathon
Divisions of the night Each calculated the same Staccatoed bursts of sound At regular intervals Random quotes stick in my brain “Where is your favorite place to eat?” Limp beanbags lobbed at remotes in futile attempts to change reality. Fake drama as one non-sister complains to another that she will tell secrets to strangers but not to her family. But I am no stranger I follow her life hour after hour Her fake life in exchange for mine not lived except in flickering shadows. Another weekend wasted watching lives of the inane and ridiculous Which is still somehow better than watching mine
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21
I am not a robot. Underneath this skin are tissues, and organs, bones, and liquids, none of which were constructed. I feel real things, and try to understand them too. I have not masked intelligence, emotion, and humanity; dissected and interpreted the world around me, and plugged it in. My brain is human; it did not learn human, but lives human. It was not programmed, and taught human. I receive no signals from remote remotes, and super computers. I do not speak code; only human I am irreplaceable, repairable and invariable. I will learn, and what i do not will destroy me; like any other human being.
0
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
somethingrascal
Robot
I am not a robot. Underneath this skin are tissues, and organs, bones, and liquids, none of which were constructed. I feel real things, and try to understand them too. I have not masked intelligence, emotion, and humanity; dissected and interpreted the world around me, and plugged it in. My brain is human; it did not learn human, but lives human. It was not programmed, and taught human. I receive no signals from remote remotes, and super computers. I do not speak code; only human I am irreplaceable, repairable and invariable. I will learn, and what i do not will destroy me; like any other human being.
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29
The worlds never truly silent turn off your television and just listen tires rolling over the iced streets outside the buzzing of the street light the pitter patter of a gutter next door streaming water as the water runs down the side of the curb like children in a playground it dances and laughs its way to the open drain I lite my cigarette and blow a big cloud towards the stars I here the airplanes in the sky passing by and a cat hisses at something in a dark corner As I inhale again I can here my lungs fill up with the toxic aroma and I taste the smoke under my finger nails as a chew them off. I here the sound of feet and look across the street two young kids holding hands walking I try to eaves drop on their conversation but the cars passing bye blocks my attempt at spying on them. I can here what their saying to eachother as I see them both smiling "it's cold out here.. but your warm" I'm jealous almost and just as I think this my ciagrette burns me and brings me back to the echo of the town. I toss the burnt end and here it land in a puddle I watch as it gets taken away down along the side of my house. were all a generation of the television society and left out brains on the couch as we stuff our faces full of patato chips and useless tv programs. When the real entertainment waits for us outside. where the music of the world is waiting to be heard. Instead we click our remotes and fall into a trance of law and order tv programs and violence upon violence school shootings and who the next mass ****** is a sick twisted form of entertainment. I guess listening to the world got so boring...... I guess I'm the only one who sees the world as a untamed ochestra waiting to be composed into a lovely sympathy. On mistro On you play for your little sounds are not useless I here you playing and strumming the world is perfectly in tune if you just listen.
0
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
jam-rock
just listen
The worlds never truly silent turn off your television and just listen tires rolling over the iced streets outside the buzzing of the street light the pitter patter of a gutter next door streaming water as the water runs down the side of the curb like children in a playground it dances and laughs its way to the open drain I lite my cigarette and blow a big cloud towards the stars I here the airplanes in the sky passing by and a cat hisses at something in a dark corner As I inhale again I can here my lungs fill up with the toxic aroma and I taste the smoke under my finger nails as a chew them off. I here the sound of feet and look across the street two young kids holding hands walking I try to eaves drop on their conversation but the cars passing bye blocks my attempt at spying on them. I can here what their saying to eachother as I see them both smiling "it's cold out here.. but your warm" I'm jealous almost and just as I think this my ciagrette burns me and brings me back to the echo of the town. I toss the burnt end and here it land in a puddle I watch as it gets taken away down along the side of my house. were all a generation of the television society and left out brains on the couch as we stuff our faces full of patato chips and useless tv programs. When the real entertainment waits for us outside. where the music of the world is waiting to be heard. Instead we click our remotes and fall into a trance of law and order tv programs and violence upon violence school shootings and who the next mass ****** is a sick twisted form of entertainment. I guess listening to the world got so boring...... I guess I'm the only one who sees the world as a untamed ochestra waiting to be composed into a lovely sympathy. On mistro On you play for your little sounds are not useless I here you playing and strumming the world is perfectly in tune if you just listen.
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16
each night he would enter his boy's room   Bobby's tomb, he had come to call it   and turn the TV off   before remotes, 24/7 programming and the infomercial, plump with desperate promises the tube gave a final hail, the stars 'n stripes whipping, the national anthem screaming, and an anonymous promise to return tomorrow in a perfect world it would not be perfect for Bobby, no matter how much thoughtless Thorazine, hazy Haldol, or mesmerizing Mellaril they shoved down his throat now and then before flipping the **** to off he would sit with his sleeping son stare into the screen, listen to its hissing; he would swear he saw something   in the gray ocean of static   not trillions of senseless electrons busy bouncing, but a lone sailor, rowing away in a foaming sea, riding raging swells,   bound for a black horizon one his tormented son had reached long ago
0
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
spysgrandson
after it goes off
each night he would enter his boy's room   Bobby's tomb, he had come to call it   and turn the TV off   before remotes, 24/7 programming and the infomercial, plump with desperate promises the tube gave a final hail, the stars 'n stripes whipping, the national anthem screaming, and an anonymous promise to return tomorrow in a perfect world it would not be perfect for Bobby, no matter how much thoughtless Thorazine, hazy Haldol, or mesmerizing Mellaril they shoved down his throat now and then before flipping the **** to off he would sit with his sleeping son stare into the screen, listen to its hissing; he would swear he saw something   in the gray ocean of static   not trillions of senseless electrons busy bouncing, but a lone sailor, rowing away in a foaming sea, riding raging swells,   bound for a black horizon one his tormented son had reached long ago
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24
When hearing clicks of remotes, Cell phone buttons, and car doors. Rolling jays all afternoon, Listening to songs by Frank Ocean. Laughing and when I'm happy, The taste of sugar in my coffee. Drunk on Captain Morgan, And when I'm home alone at night. Familiar smells, and on rainy days, And when I feel scared. In my dreams, on every page, When I love. No matter where I am, or how I feel. These are some moments when, You know...
0
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
victoria-ellison
(i think of you)
When hearing clicks of remotes, Cell phone buttons, and car doors. Rolling jays all afternoon, Listening to songs by Frank Ocean. Laughing and when I'm happy, The taste of sugar in my coffee. Drunk on Captain Morgan, And when I'm home alone at night. Familiar smells, and on rainy days, And when I feel scared. In my dreams, on every page, When I love. No matter where I am, or how I feel. These are some moments when, You know...
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16
I wear this flannel-plaid red and black button-up long-sleeved shirt more often than a pair of shoes done-up to the neck and wrists so tight bunny-eared laces roped around blue hands and head I sit on a couch bought however long ago with a floral fabric dark wood trim flowing from back to arms into its talon feet dug deep in the flesh of the oak-wood floor it's quicksand cushions swirl to the dark cracks where change and TV remotes die where habit lies contrives to **** the quarters and dimes I might use to buy a new sofa and wardrobe
0
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
michael-mclean
Man of the Cloth
I wear this flannel-plaid red and black button-up long-sleeved shirt more often than a pair of shoes done-up to the neck and wrists so tight bunny-eared laces roped around blue hands and head I sit on a couch bought however long ago with a floral fabric dark wood trim flowing from back to arms into its talon feet dug deep in the flesh of the oak-wood floor it's quicksand cushions swirl to the dark cracks where change and TV remotes die where habit lies contrives to **** the quarters and dimes I might use to buy a new sofa and wardrobe
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11
It has been so long The same voice had sung a thousand songs Each day a battle to remain strong Standing on the right side, but all feels wrong Precarious wants, dubious desires Trembling feet crossing a string of quagmires I danced, but never on a stage made of wires My need for certainty is indubitably dire Call for help only from a trusted friend Shattered glass hearts are difficult to mend A soul that espoused strolls pressured to ride the trend Gravel and sand are known to never blend Instruments thirsty for power play harmonious notes Imperious waves swallowing quiescent boats Wails and screams incarcerated in throats Every motion a command from shrouded remotes I wish to find the nearest escape Be free to embody my envisioned shape I will sketch and color my preferred landscape But these self-proclaimed kings hunger for another grape
0
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
versutiloquent
The Wish
It has been so long The same voice had sung a thousand songs Each day a battle to remain strong Standing on the right side, but all feels wrong Precarious wants, dubious desires Trembling feet crossing a string of quagmires I danced, but never on a stage made of wires My need for certainty is indubitably dire Call for help only from a trusted friend Shattered glass hearts are difficult to mend A soul that espoused strolls pressured to ride the trend Gravel and sand are known to never blend Instruments thirsty for power play harmonious notes Imperious waves swallowing quiescent boats Wails and screams incarcerated in throats Every motion a command from shrouded remotes I wish to find the nearest escape Be free to embody my envisioned shape I will sketch and color my preferred landscape But these self-proclaimed kings hunger for another grape
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20
PART I Hey! Ladies & gentlemen! All you girls and boys! Put away TV remotes! You have some NEW TOYS! We have a job that's just for YOU! It's easy! You can TRY! WE WANT A PERSON IN THE GRAVE... Just hear our slanderous LIES. You know that woman over there? She don't do as she should She's had a hundred boyfriends What's more she beats her kids! You know that guy downstairs from you? Investigation's goin' on Law Enforcement knows about it MOLESTING KIDS IS WRONG! NO! DO NOT CONFRONT THEM! WE have a way to delve Heaven forbid they know you KNOW So they DEFEND THEMSELVES! No. We'll do it THIS way... We'll do it real SLY Don't worry bout a thing my friends Don't matter how they CRY... Just go ahead and spread the WORD! Tell everyone! Their friends! I'll teach you some OTHER TRICKS To help make their life END. If we do things all just right Use my sadistic guide You'll see that we can cleanse our world BY THEIR SUICIDE. Don't worry. It'll be easy. It's quite simple to do You will find that you won't mind... **BE GRATEFUL IT'S NOT YOU.** SoulSurvivor (C) 3/13/2017
0
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 12:07 AM UTC
SoulSurvivor
Creating A Crazy Person 101
PART I Hey! Ladies & gentlemen! All you girls and boys! Put away TV remotes! You have some NEW TOYS! We have a job that's just for YOU! It's easy! You can TRY! WE WANT A PERSON IN THE GRAVE... Just hear our slanderous LIES. You know that woman over there? She don't do as she should She's had a hundred boyfriends What's more she beats her kids! You know that guy downstairs from you? Investigation's goin' on Law Enforcement knows about it MOLESTING KIDS IS WRONG! NO! DO NOT CONFRONT THEM! WE have a way to delve Heaven forbid they know you KNOW So they DEFEND THEMSELVES! No. We'll do it THIS way... We'll do it real SLY Don't worry bout a thing my friends Don't matter how they CRY... Just go ahead and spread the WORD! Tell everyone! Their friends! I'll teach you some OTHER TRICKS To help make their life END. If we do things all just right Use my sadistic guide You'll see that we can cleanse our world BY THEIR SUICIDE. Don't worry. It'll be easy. It's quite simple to do You will find that you won't mind... **BE GRATEFUL IT'S NOT YOU.** SoulSurvivor (C) 3/13/2017
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39
I've got enough food in the pantry Enough water in the tub Enough gas in the generator Hope I've got enough of enough I've got enough color in the T.V's Enough batteries in the remotes I've got enough Cheetos in the stairwell Enough to make a blind mouse choke Enough crosswords to keep me puzzled Enough coloring books to spread my art Enough soap and shampoo samples I'll stay clean enough through 2024 I've got enough Reynolds aluminum foil To cover every square inch of wall Enough ammunition if there's trouble And enough guns to shoot it all I've got enough jelly beans and peanut butter To span across the state Now I only need to find the money Enough to pay for all the freight I've got the radio for transmitting Bee Gee albums for talking jive When I get that Saturday night zombie fever They also help with staying alive I've got enough ice cream in the freezer Vanilla Chocolate Swirl Pretty sure that I'm now ready For the end of the world...
0
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
mike-hauser
Yep....I'm Ready
I've got enough food in the pantry Enough water in the tub Enough gas in the generator Hope I've got enough of enough I've got enough color in the T.V's Enough batteries in the remotes I've got enough Cheetos in the stairwell Enough to make a blind mouse choke Enough crosswords to keep me puzzled Enough coloring books to spread my art Enough soap and shampoo samples I'll stay clean enough through 2024 I've got enough Reynolds aluminum foil To cover every square inch of wall Enough ammunition if there's trouble And enough guns to shoot it all I've got enough jelly beans and peanut butter To span across the state Now I only need to find the money Enough to pay for all the freight I've got the radio for transmitting Bee Gee albums for talking jive When I get that Saturday night zombie fever They also help with staying alive I've got enough ice cream in the freezer Vanilla Chocolate Swirl Pretty sure that I'm now ready For the end of the world...
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28
Who's left holding lost remotes? Too many devices for soul oats seeded in poor soil and bad reviews, a stinging blessing at wicked thoughts best. Pride turning on TV, caressing for an absent Love out of sight and mind. For the Roosters, Fear. Combs without waivers, thinking, I will be Cockmeister here with cursing chicks and deceitful vanity, Evil errant. Secret murders, and poor innocents wearing broken covenant, lured to an ant-lion's nest, sliding down Banker's drawers into earning crevices of Mr. Crouch, his curvaceous cushions hiding hard yearning.   Say Love is forgotten with a hidden face, because we'll never see with Chicken humility the forgotten Love given for free. What kinda fried Chicken doesn't hate free Sauce you might ask? There's the poor commitment's rub, an Assistant father taken to task. Violate his wicked arm. Search the veins of evil's grime until the forever King is found mysteriously without crime. You've heard our heart headset's rumble, Oppressed orphan's plea given most humble.
0
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
jojo-nguyen
Song #10
Who's left holding lost remotes? Too many devices for soul oats seeded in poor soil and bad reviews, a stinging blessing at wicked thoughts best. Pride turning on TV, caressing for an absent Love out of sight and mind. For the Roosters, Fear. Combs without waivers, thinking, I will be Cockmeister here with cursing chicks and deceitful vanity, Evil errant. Secret murders, and poor innocents wearing broken covenant, lured to an ant-lion's nest, sliding down Banker's drawers into earning crevices of Mr. Crouch, his curvaceous cushions hiding hard yearning.   Say Love is forgotten with a hidden face, because we'll never see with Chicken humility the forgotten Love given for free. What kinda fried Chicken doesn't hate free Sauce you might ask? There's the poor commitment's rub, an Assistant father taken to task. Violate his wicked arm. Search the veins of evil's grime until the forever King is found mysteriously without crime. You've heard our heart headset's rumble, Oppressed orphan's plea given most humble.
Continue reading...
18
So the world's biggest tournament is here Most fathers in Africa have taken their TV remotes My sister wont be watching anymore soap operas Every soccer lover sings Russia now Emotional scenes are not very seldom Its a real blunder if the power goes out now I heard my neighbour, next door, bought a generator Just in case the worst happens With so much anxiety and averting the unexpected, People are really ready to go But one question, Are they ready to take in the pain of losing a match? Anyway, keep the answer ....
0
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
Phinmirandah
World Cup Craze
So the world's biggest tournament is here Most fathers in Africa have taken their TV remotes My sister wont be watching anymore soap operas Every soccer lover sings Russia now Emotional scenes are not very seldom Its a real blunder if the power goes out now I heard my neighbour, next door, bought a generator Just in case the worst happens With so much anxiety and averting the unexpected, People are really ready to go But one question, Are they ready to take in the pain of losing a match? Anyway, keep the answer ....
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13
The worlds never truly silent turn off your television and just listen tires rolling over the iced streets outside the buzzing of the street light the pitter patter of a gutter next door streaming water as the water runs down the side of the curb like children in a playground it dances and laughs its way to the open drain I lite my cigarette and blow a big cloud towards the stars I hear the airplanes in the sky passing by and a cat hisses at something in a dark corner As I inhale again I can hear my lungs fill up with the toxic aroma and I taste the smoke under my fingernails as a chew them off. I hear the sound of feet and look across the street two young kids holding hands walking I try to eavesdrop on their conversation but the cars passing bye blocks my attempt at spying on them. I can hear what their saying to each other as I see them both smiling "it's cold out here.. but your warm" I'm jealous almost and just as I think this my cigarette burns me and brings me back to the echo of the town. I toss the burnt end and here it land in a puddle I watch as it gets taken away down along the side of my house. were all a generation of the television society and left out brains on the couch as we stuff our faces full of potato chips and useless tv programs. When the real entertainment waits for us outside. where the music of the world is waiting to be heard. Instead we click our remotes and fall into a trance of law and order tv programs and violence upon violence school shootings and who the next mass ****** is a sick twisted form of entertainment. I guess listening to the world got so boring...... I guess I'm the only one who sees the world as a untamed orchestra waiting to be composed into a lovely sympathy. On mistro On you play for your little sounds are not useless I here you playing and strumming the world is perfectly in tune if you just listen.
0
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
hagilyforever
Just Listen
The worlds never truly silent turn off your television and just listen tires rolling over the iced streets outside the buzzing of the street light the pitter patter of a gutter next door streaming water as the water runs down the side of the curb like children in a playground it dances and laughs its way to the open drain I lite my cigarette and blow a big cloud towards the stars I hear the airplanes in the sky passing by and a cat hisses at something in a dark corner As I inhale again I can hear my lungs fill up with the toxic aroma and I taste the smoke under my fingernails as a chew them off. I hear the sound of feet and look across the street two young kids holding hands walking I try to eavesdrop on their conversation but the cars passing bye blocks my attempt at spying on them. I can hear what their saying to each other as I see them both smiling "it's cold out here.. but your warm" I'm jealous almost and just as I think this my cigarette burns me and brings me back to the echo of the town. I toss the burnt end and here it land in a puddle I watch as it gets taken away down along the side of my house. were all a generation of the television society and left out brains on the couch as we stuff our faces full of potato chips and useless tv programs. When the real entertainment waits for us outside. where the music of the world is waiting to be heard. Instead we click our remotes and fall into a trance of law and order tv programs and violence upon violence school shootings and who the next mass ****** is a sick twisted form of entertainment. I guess listening to the world got so boring...... I guess I'm the only one who sees the world as a untamed orchestra waiting to be composed into a lovely sympathy. On mistro On you play for your little sounds are not useless I here you playing and strumming the world is perfectly in tune if you just listen.
Continue reading...
16
Pristine in her posturing She's The Mighty Phoenix She's the elegance Swan She's the Verses of Venus She's the Daughter of Dawn Remotes in her proximity Across a dreamy grassy pond I am the song of her destiny I am the Lily her lotus rest upon Dear Verses of Venus Poetess... You ruffled my drake feather!
0
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 5:47 AM UTC
TravelerTim
Versus of Venus
Pristine in her posturing She's The Mighty Phoenix She's the elegance Swan She's the Verses of Venus She's the Daughter of Dawn Remotes in her proximity Across a dreamy grassy pond I am the song of her destiny I am the Lily her lotus rest upon Dear Verses of Venus Poetess... You ruffled my drake feather!
Continue reading...
12