"rescuing" poems
She is equipped with sensitive *******
and those other secret places
that ladies give out as prizes
to deserving guys as long as
they adopt the right disguises
of gods, gurus, intellectual giants,
goats, children, father figures, macho brutes,
sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels,
house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects,
handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems,
sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types
who can also pay the bills,
tall dark and handsome total strangers,
toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires,
wood choppers, ******* removers,
bottomless reservoirs of reassurance
or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right.
In fact, anything but woffly wimps.
Oh God, no. Anything but woffly wimps.
Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS,
you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys
who won’t face-shift for a ****
Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now.
I think that the woman is dripping
with a brimming reservoir
of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for
the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope
of swirling dreams and desires,
which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent.
Although please don't be confused.
Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome,
aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio,
who are students, who appear to be intellectuals,
who are not nerds,
and who can **** it in the kitchen, who can be oh, so cool,
who can convince a maiden that she is in distress,
and is in need of rescuing, while he has
a swaggering hard-on will do, too.
Oooh. You devil.
And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic,
well, I’ve been around and by now, well,
I really should be panoptic
because I’ve seen all the fads,
and really, it’s sadly too bad
about those poor old
earnest SNAGS.
But you know what?
I don't think I understand anything, because
I'm really a victim of worshiping women.
I'm bedazzled and as blind as the next man, and
yes,
I'm just happy whenever I'm with them.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
you
not the flower but
the bee kissing
rosebuds, making
living things
bloom
you
no sunrise on
mountains but
the sun
herself, every
flame burning fierce
sploding gainst
the sky
you
not an ocean but
a stream softly
babbling
and rescuing
us,
the lonely
the lost
you
not forever
but tragically
temporary
and every
moment
you are here
i will be
what i am -
the pollen,
the planets,
the wanderer,
the poet -
dedicated to
loving
you
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 12:54 PM UTC
In the annals of New York City
An amazing hero is acclaimed,
Known as "The man in the red bandana"
Welles Remy Crowther was his name.
Born in Nineteen seventy seven,
This New Yorker, born and bred,
Could have escaped death's destruction,
But chose to rescue folks instead.
All his life he cared for people,
Loved his family, kept them dear,
But on that day of 9/11
His higher purpose became clear.
An Honor Student, Lacrosse player,
Former fire fighter, too,
When explosions rocked the building,
Welles knew what he must do.
Rescuing with calm authority,
Directing people toward the doors,
He found a woman so disabled
He carried her to the 61st floor.
In the end, before death took him,
Twelve people were brought out, saved.
No one knows where Welles is buried
In his 9/11 grave.
Later, when his mother told
Of the red bandana Welles had,
The survivors saw his picture,
And knew Welles was the brave lad.
Only 26 years old,
Welles Crowther manned up in strife,
That young man is New York's hero...
... for twelve gave HIS VERY LIFE.
Soul Survivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 11, 2014
13th anniversary of 9/11
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
I never knew here to be one who would accept my roses
Or even one to exchange kisses like Eskimos, rubbing noses
But I could tell you it was her smile that gave her away
Even amidst the mud on her cheeks she gained throughout the day
She was never one for dresses, no, her jeans fitted just fine
Her figure flattering, though her clothes modest, humble in her design
And she would sooner throw a punch than look for rescuing
Yet she showed her princessly ways every time she'd sing
She would rather raise a mug than a cup of tea
And romp around, laughing all the while, on the bed with me
She'd giggle when I burped, and defeat me all the more
Then lie with me to look at the ceiling from her bedroom floor
But when she cried... oh when she cried... there crying she would be
And you would see no figure that was all the more dainty
No words said as she'd bury her face deep into my chest
Strong is she, all to me, in sorrow or happiness
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 1:28 PM UTC
The blood boils inside my veins, heating every road in my bloodstreams corrupting my nervous system until there's an earthquake.
How can I save myself when rescuing myself means dying?
Surviving
that's all we try to do.
But when living is so hard and dying is so easy it makes me wonder,
why are we still breathing when a knife, a safety pin, a pencil sharpener blade can take it all away?
It seems we're addicted to pain.
Whether in the form of trying to escape or trying to get by
and I can't figure out which is worse.
-k.d.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
Teasing the beast
Looking for a feast
Hounds barking at our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom
To hide the great systematic sickness
Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire
We, wholeheartedly accepting being
Appropriated, labeled, discarded
As construing our own oppression and sadness
Enduring the **** of our minds
Being castrated of our consciousness
Before we reap the products
Of its bold liberation and grandness
Its the belly of the beast
And its hungry
Insatiable, amoral entrails
Hoping to salvage a feast
From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars
Hoping we feed our monstrous fear
Thirsting for the greed
Dripping off of accumulating wealths
Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges
Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies
Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience
Knowing we'll never realize we are masses
Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering
Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action
Trying to reassure we are weak
Knowing at some point or another
We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences:
Oppression
Pain
Silencing
****
Hunger
Fear
Violence
Repression
Retaliation
Discrimination
Torture
Negation
Alienation
All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation
Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment
Preferring to live out our veiled miseries
Endorsing their continuance
Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation
Always ensuring the feast of the beast
By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature
Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us
All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord
Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation
Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Signifying the impending recapturing
Of our true transformative desires
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
1.
Inhaling poison like it’s a sweet spring breeze,
an antidote to the pounding heart and aching stomach empty of comfort or substance
Meeting with pavement in a tiger’s crouch
fingers float toward parted lips
awaiting the taste of relief in the form of smouldering leaves.
2.
One tentative epidermis approaches another
tendons and ligaments straining, aching for contact
attempting nonchalance in the lamplight privacy of early morning,
cocking ears to detect voyeuristic insomniacs
who would disturb the disorderly expressions of early experimentation.
3.
White lady dusting the concrete path, sterile and unconfined
laid new before careful feet making their way to shiny metal boxes
bundled in seasonal expectations they trudge through stardust
on their way to blood borne obligations,
leaving behind careless tracks in ****** flesh
4.
Blazing sun presses down on shoulders hunched behind compact table tops
peddling penny prologues to unabashed strangers
bartering unwanted pocket change for rejected trinkets
haggling over half-dried finger paints and unfinished chess sets
rescuing garish afghans from dusty closeted life.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
Kiss me like
I am your savior
Rescuing you
From deep
Dark water
Kiss me like
I am a feast
And you are
Starving, hungry
Desperate
For me
Kiss me like
We are to lose
All sense of time
Lost in this one kiss
Kiss me like
You are leaving
And saying goodbye
But never really leave
Kiss me like
I mean the stars
And the moon
The oceans and
Mountains and
Everything in between
To you
Kiss me like
I am your
First kiss and
You are shy
Kiss me like
You are a wildfire
And I am
Only dry tinder
To be consumed by your flames
Kiss me like
I am the last
Breath of air
On a dying planet
Kiss me like
This is everything
You want
And nothing
You want to leave
Kiss me like
You are kissing away
The sadness in
My soul
Kiss me like
You think
I should be kissed
In the end
I just want you
To kiss me
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
When I was younger, my mom always told me these fairytales
Even if she hadn't, I would've still known them
the basic plot of almost every fairytale is this
Miserable young girl, maybe already princess, maybe hidden princess
whatever
Prince charming comes and whisks her away to a better life
somehow he always finds the princess, as if he knew who it was all along
She was in distress, he saved her, happily ever after
but what happens if you wait too long for the prince and nothing ever gets solved. What if you're stuck right where you are, with nothing changing unless you change it yourself.
What if Prince Charming comes, see how messed up everything is and doesn't know how to fix it.
What if Prince is a *******
Then what?
Your left there ******* with the ******* "Prince Charming", who doesn't know all you've been through or how to even help besides taking you away to the big stupid castle. I'd rather take the time and effort to save myself than fight those odds. I'd rather get my crap together and do the rescuing myself thank you very much. Does that mean I won't end up with a happy ending? NO!
I refuse to believe that if I don't play little miss pathetic that I won't be happy! I refuse! That isn't how the world was made
that's why the world isn't a ******* fairytale
so I refuse to be saved.
If some ******* ******* prince thinks he can save me
he's in for a surprise.
I don't need to be saved.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
Dark can disappear any monster.
Rescuing children from their nightmares,
While simultaneously creating them.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Control:
Enticing me
I am at your mercy
My delicate nature in need
Bewitching every facet of my being
Command:
Overtake me
Demanding my rapture
Leading me to my submission
Freedom escaping me in this *******
Coalesce:
Ensnaring me
Obedience resolved
Craving the softness of your flesh
The grasp of these restrains enslaves me
Complete:
Liberate me
Promises delivered
This total wonder entangling
Rescuing me with absolute fulfillment
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
Remember:
That time you put a candle in an egg roll
told me “happy birthday” and you were the
only one singing. I was the only one listening.
Candle lit dinner.
Remember:
That woman we stumbled into
who created the world out of yarn and thread
we wanted the world, but she was asking too much
although not unkindly.
Remember:
“there’s nothing borin abo’ Texas daalin”
oh what was his name- Greenberg? Graham?
he had charm the way Indiana Jones has charm
“Write her a poem”
I tried.
Remember:
That monster bass I caught on a
right-handed pole while you read
Faith Seeking Understanding
snug under your sleeping bag and yellow
volleyball blanket all of it just the bait
but we had both been hooked by that time.
Remember:
What happened next?
the stars had a twinkle and the water had
a shimmer the moon had a glow
but not as much as you. I never told you
I was freezing that night.
I just had a V-neck
****** if I broke the moment though.
Some things are worth suffering through.
Remember:
When I lied to you
about being on vacation
while you were in Honduras
rescuing children who knew how to **** dance”
lying may be a sin, but I think it made God smile
if not, the smile you had waiting could be sung about
for eternity.
Remember:
How we could argue.
Fights are ugly, but I was grotesque
words hit harder than my mother’s fist.
While it went on, words escaped, but the
ones that mattered I’m so sorry crept by unnoticed.
Remember:
The taste of “I Love You”
On your tongue, your lips.
Our unique flavor some parts fire and spice (you)
Some parts simmer and thyme (me)
or vice versa? Maybe a combination.
Remember:
Your goodnight.
Goodnight.
Sweet Dreams.
Sleep Well.
And Be Safe.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 12:41 PM UTC
The seven walked in fury,
No more a land called their home.
Forced many miles dreary,
All for a place called their own.
In a searching journey on,
They seek lost treasures hidden.
Each land to step, cross and come,
These exiled souls forbidden.
A rescuing hero large,
He seeks to redeem himself.
Even if till a last charge,
Saving souls fighting their Hell.
Kingdoms to come together,
For peace and love forever.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 7:16 PM UTC
He’s someone out of a dream, or a fairy tale and when he saved me he was a prince rescuing a damsel in distress. He holds a smile of sunshine and shares with me words of promise and pure gold. When I hold his hand I feel like a child who’s about to ride her first roller-coaster; with butterflies on the inside and knuckles clasped. Gripping with no desire to release thanks to the fear that letting go could result in disaster. And his lips are salt water; the more they caress mine, my thirst for them perpetually increases.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
I will do my damnedest to save you from harm
and wrap you safely up in lust
you who're only a luckless victim
a poor forsaken damsel in distress
tied to the railway tracks by a villain
in one of those black and white movies
I will arrive in the dramatic nick of time
and I shall be the hero who proves his love
when in return you kick me under the train
I'm really just vain and an incapable slave
so you relent and pull me back from the brink
I'll waste no time in rescuing you
your destiny's under my control
there's nothing you can do
no reason for you to get involved
except in relinquishing your body
yet what you do is to shelve
all my plans for today
I'm relieved you know yourself
I'll be there to deliver you from evil
the forces of love are far too weak
you have too much of it to lose to quibble
my advice is to stay put and not to seek
instead you jump into the moral saddle
urging it on so strong my heart goes meek
I repent and promise not to meddle
I'll take you in my arms and we'll escape
giving you a way out when all seems lost
picking up the pieces of your broken reality
what you need is for me to know what's best
to change you into a looker for me
I'm only glad you passed the test
with that sand I got kicked into my face
something you call leather and lace...
nice work... I secretly have to confess
You'll need me to give you a hand
when your slight frame gets knocked down
my assistance in perspective is what you need
the weights of love too great to be borne
I'd hate for yours to fatten and go to seed
and your strong love will feel no pain
when you yank me limb from limb to the ground
and ****** my salvation insanely thin
Rest assured I'll rid you of your past
that awful story of unspeakable depravity
it's easy for someone clean to dust
all traces erased of that shocking poverty
and I'll dress you anew as a lady to impress
forging history in return for a few liberties
but you tore my shoddy papers into a mess
a message that I needed you to fix me
what wasn't broken was you - I was
even more impressive love it's true
for you to sort out my lax assumptive ways
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
1. Your cornflower blue eyes crinkled and laughing, sometimes flashing like the storms you love to chase
2. Your strawberry blond mop that smelled nothing like fruit but instead of sweat and grime, clinging to your brow when you removed that Pepsi baseball cap
3. Easter egg hunts on your birthday, like plastic flowers in melted snow and you up trees and on the roof of grandma's garage
4. Rare compromises that built tree forts or wound up the tire swing until it bounced and whirled its passenger like a spinning top
5. When everything you did, I wanted to do too--whether it was rescuing the princess or flying an X-wing
6. Diddy and Dixie Kong headlocked and tangled in armpits, wrestling for the Super Nintendo controller or for the remote for the VCR until Donkey had enough and made them both watch Barney
7. The laughter of you and your friends from the basement or slipping around the corner, back when I said “Me too” and meant “include me”
8. Games of war crouched behind the couches when the only war you dreamt about was the one in Narnia
9. The cliff in Hawaii over the smoking volcanic ocean water and Mom screaming for you to come down
10. When you push me, like the dominoes you used to line up and watch devotedly as they toppled over, one after the other because sometimes general incivility is the very essence of love.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
little sister do you remember all those nights
I sat on the edge softly folding my love
your small body warm but heavy
my attempts at safety as I spun
apologies into lullabies
and read stories of ethereal landscapes
with orphaned children lost
I almost had you believing
we would be so much more
than our childhoods suggested
and in kings who ruled true
and queens who stayed brave
little sister can you imagine I am sorry
for all the nights I walked by your door
without stopping, my footsteps echoing
the sacrifice I did not make
leaving you wanting
stories where nobody needs to be saved
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
My knight in shining armour upon his gallant steed,
Or rather, truth be told, my gallant knight in his shining steed,
Rescued me in my hour of need
When I decided to adventure off piste
To view an ancient church,
For a couple of minutes, or so I thought,
With not a care for any danger or dragons.
But my wheels sunk deep into the cemented mud,
So I had to ring and surreptitiously confess my deed.
He came racing back
To the midsts of nowhere,
Thank goodness for what three words.
We pushed, we pulled, we added straw and sheets of wood,
But the vehicle was stuck fast.
With the light dimming,
We shovelled the earth,
The van decided to play ball,
And with a flurry of mud
Came free at last,
Thanks to my honourable knight
For rescuing me in my misdemeanour.
Oh me and my easily distracted brain!
Mar 11, 2024
Mar 11, 2024 at 11:52 AM UTC
There sits an geisha along
The shore
When will love arrive; the ocean her tears have cried
Awaiting the sound of Orr like arms to paddle through
Melancholy puddle.
Her hair shimmers ebony
Awaiting a love that crosses the sea
Her Wooden sandels no longer echo above gravel and dirt
Awaiting their sound to be replaced. Repeated over and over
Laped by the lapel of rescuing arms.
There she sits alone by the shore
Seducing the tears she has made; praying a love fair and true
The koi of her dream refuses to swim
Alone she waits by an ocean she's made
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
setting goals worth achieving
saying no words without meaning
trusting only those worth believing
putting my heart in girl worth loving
looking for sights worth seeing
carrying any weight worth lifting
taking on any pain worth bearing
rescuing everything worth saving
indulging in things worth sining
letting go of affliction for those worth forgiving
staying in my own world that's not worth leaving
sharing anything worth giving
looking in the mirror at a man worth being
i'm living a life that's worth living
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
Men, can’t live with them – can’t live without them. So strong and firm, yet gentle and understanding on return. Exciting but never bending – always curious with women.
Men where does the beast console his wounds – do they crawl away in the dark to lick the deepest cut or into a woman’s arms gently laying on her breasts? Hopefully so, but maybe not. Men also place their bruises upon the hands of the Maker while women gently sob tears into the night.
Men never give up being knightly, strong and rescuing the damsel in distress. Sometime men just cause stress.
Gifts, love, uncertainty, cuddling, nested in the strong arms are a woman torn, broken, bent beyond reproach. Her heart goes limp, she sighs.
Men are always ready with the first aid kit and those soft, smothering kisses and long, lost, longing eyes.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 4:20 AM UTC
MrRight or maybe now or later
Dear Mr.Right,
I think I understand now.
And I get it .
We sit waiting.
Seconds.minutes.hours. days.
For the someone in our life to complete us,
to wrap our wounds and mend our hearts.
To laugh at the jokes we tell even when they aren’t funny. no especially when they aren’t funny.
To challenge us and to make us forget, but allow us the space to remember.
To know when we want to be held,
but don’t know how to ask,
a mate,
a lover,
a friend.
And we wait.
Believing and hoping they will come and rescues us from the tower,
to fight off the demons and the dragons of the mundane day to day life.
And to win our hand, for rescuing us.
And we sit and wait as we expect them to tear down the walls of our imprisonment whether mental or concrete,
as we become less,
we become dormant,
when we have been given the same tools and opportunities to tie up the bed sheets or cascade our hair down, to escape,
to be free, wasting away in the waiting
I want to warn you
I am not sitting on my bed waiting,
do not look for me in the kitchen making the pies to appease your hunger,
I am out collecting treasures,
and having adventures,
and making memories
with hook and finding my way with pirates,
and traipsing with sinners while believing in saints,
you wont find me with apple scented skin but maybe lemons,
or grass,
or the sea salt ocean
or dandelions,
because I am lying in the meadow looking up at the stars breathing in cold air,
and thinking of you
but you will not find me waiting for the world to be put back on its axis or ask atlas to put down his burden,
im not running away, but Im not waiting in a tower held high above life.
Ill be among the disciples and the hipsters, brushing off the mud of my jeans and rolling down hills with children,
kissing boo boos and fighting my own demons.
And one day we’ll meet and I ll ask you where were you when I was waiting and maybe you will say looking for you. or maybe you’ll say I was waiting for you. And we’ll be happy to find each other.
I will not let life pass me by while i am waiting, but Ill put pieces of me in all my letters left to tell you of my adventures,
If you thought Id be less pirate more princess I’m sorry to say maybe it’s better this way. I am not dormantly waiting,I want too much for that, I want to know me before I find you. I want to be single and appreciate the entire bed and not having to share, to look in the mirror and to know my own worth and beauty, and maybe these things will come later in life before or while you are around. I know not your name or the hour in which we’ll meet but tonight I’m thinking of you. Catch me of you can.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
Escape into a world of your own
An adventure to another dimension
Where might and courage must be shown
To be part of a group or a legion
Battling countless monsters and demons
To rescuing maidens in dungeons
Or going on quests
To a land of gold in chests
And after all this is done
And all fun seems to be gone
I log off back to real world
Where more awesomeness are behold
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
"When did you get so thin?" they say it like it's a revelation like the gods from heaven had sent down a message to convey to the whole world and that message was conveyed in a girl and the numbers on her bathroom scale.
Smiling thinly I have to replay "good diet, good exercise" even tough deep down I know the reality and they know it too but I lie because how can you explain that the thing that gives you life is the thing that's killing you?
The good diet? Apparently might as not, apparently celery and gum is not a healthy way to make your body function, apparently no meals is not, apparently diet coke is not, apparently ice is not a way to live your life, but who wants to live mine anyway?
It's hard to convey that every bite adds on a stone and every meal is equal to 10 kilos I have to run off, till I trow up, till my **** is toned up, till my senses turn off and my heart gives up, because when I look in the mirror the girl I see is not the girl in me, the girl I see isn't a girl at all, she has no bones and no muscles, rather she has jelly around every bend of the body, every inch of it is filled with the word that becomes her, a word that she becomes.
Fat.
She's fat, she's ugly she's fat, she's fat, she's ugly, she is fat, she's just not that fat, she's fat, her stomach pukes when she eats, fat, her thighs jiggle when she walks, fat, her arms and legs can barely function, fat, she's always dizzy and cold, fat, her face is pale and she is that word. Fat.
Although people try, although they try to tell her that she's not, to help her, to save her, to rescue a girl that does not need rescuing, this girl does not need saving rather this girl needs a knife, a knife to cut away all her worries, to tear her lungs and bumps on her body until she has nothing left, nothing at all because nothing is perfect,
zero is perfection, zero meals, zero carbs, zero calories, zero kilos, zero efforts, zero voices, zero people in her head screaming, zero messages in her head gleaming whenever she eats, the evil ones that she deals with, the ones who stop her eating, the ones that know that every mouthful she eats she is no longer beautiful, she becomes that word, fat,
what torture could be worse than that?
Selfish, she's selfish, I'm selfish for believing that a few spare pounds is the worst thing that can happen to me.
People are reminding me constantly that how the nightmares I feed are not the ones to fear because I could get hit by a car, I could get harassed or stabbed, I could get a disease that can stop me from breathing, I could get kicked on to the streets an of course, of course these things are worse and terrible and horrible and bleak but at least in these circumstances I wouldn't have to eat.
The truth is I'm a jealous little girl in a world that doesn't care, I'm jealous of the people I see who weight less than I will be, I'm jealous of the people who don't eat that people don't see, I'm jealous of the scale, I'm jealous of nothing, I'm jealous of bones and vomits and pills of prescription and water and air and nothing.
So, "when did you get so thin?" they say it like it's a revelation because how can they begin to see that the thing that gives me life is the thing that's killing me.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
I remember when we were small, and you were just a bat and ball,
on the TV,
just a blip and a blot, bouncing around, while I crawled in my cot,
and we both grew, in volume and vision,
to blast into space on our own secret mission -
aliens fled when we were in session.
I remember one Christmas when I was just eight, pretending to sleep,
but staying up late,
my fingers crossed tight, trying to resist the pull of the night,
hoping that Santa would see me alright, with your arrival,
in a spectrum of light.
I couldn’t believe that your new form took tapes! That your games had more
than just plumbers and apes! I’d heard you could draw more than 10,000 shapes!
It’s a wonder I slept, while your envoy escaped.
I remember with fondness the pull of arcades, destroying the Deathstar and rescuing maids,
the scramble for change as you begged to be played, we were lost in the moment,
a moment which stayed.
I recall the freedom you offered at will, a doorway to dreams that’s cast ajar still,
and despite being an adult, I still feel that thrill, at the theme tune to Sonic,
all manic and shrill.
I know that I’m older, and soon thirty-five, and that there’s no cheat code for bills,
or for wives,
but I still hope that somehow our friendship survives,
I’ll remember you gave me those infinite lives.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 9:29 AM UTC