"retro" poems
Ha kamatuoran la, gin-susumhan na gud ako,
Diri ka pa ba gin-susumhan?
Hin mga buhat nga balik-balik nala?
Diri mo ba nahahalata?
Nga utro-utro nala kita?
Kun may napakiana ha imo, "Ano kumusta na?"
An pirmi mo baton: "Adi asya la gihapon, waray pinagkaibahan han kakulop!"
Ngan kontento ko na hito.
*The truth is, I am sick and tired.
Aren’t you sick and tired?
Doing the same things over and over again?
Still haven’t noticed it?
This has been like this again and again.
When somebody asks you, “How is everything with you?”
Your usual reply is: “Oh nothing’s changed same as yesterday.”
And you’re happy as it is.*
Usahay liwat nabati ako ha imo nga utro-utro an reklamo.
Nga baga hin kadaan ngan guba nga plaka,
Balik-balik an tukar, masakit ha talinga.
Reklamo an imo pamahaw,
Ngan amo la gihapon hasta panihapon.
Kay kuno makuri.
Kay kuno waray salapi.
Kay kuno waray kapas.
Kun may sweldo daw la an pag-rineklamo,
siguro maiha na unta nga nag-riko.
*Sometimes, I will hear you complaining again and again.
Like an old and broken retro vinyl,
playing over and over again, it is hurting my ears.
Complaining is your breakfast,
and it is your same meal for dinner.
Because it’s hard.
Because we don’t have money.
Because I am powerless.
If complaining will provide you a salary,
perhaps by now, you might quite be wealthy.*
Nagkatapo kita kanina ha dalan han "Kada Adlaw"
Asya la gihapon an imo sul-ot nga bado,
ngan an kabutang han imo buhok.
Asya la gihapon an pagkakurumos han imo nawong,
Ngan an bubble gum nga hasta yana imo la gihap ginsisinamsam.
Nangurog ako han kaluwad.
Tigda ako nahingasuka ha imo atubangan.
Pasayloa, pero magpapadayon ka nala ba hito?
Diri ka pa ba ginsusumhan?
Kay ha kamatuoran la, Naamin ako Nga Oo.
*I came across you at the street called “Everyday”
You were wearing the same clothes,
And your hair was fixed the same way.
You were having the same wrinkled frown in your face,
and was chewing the same bubble gum.
I cringe.
I suddenly felt vomiting in front of you.
I’m sorry, but will you keep on doing this?
Aren't you sick and tired?
Because to be honest with you, I think I am.*
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
Why is it so cool to hate on a group
for their fashion sense?
Or that they like to be off the mainstream?
You are doing the same thing that
people were doing to the
grunge
goths
punks
hippies
beatniks
flappers
and they all did something with their counterculture.
Ever think that
ours is the hipsters?
Not really,
they've been around since *The *** Pistols*
actually
they started them.
They made it cool to go to a thrift store
and buy things out of comfort
then rip it up
change it so it looked brand new.
Punk
that made Hipsters.
But now they are just some fad
that people hate on.
Just because they like to talk about
indie bands
knowing them first
wearing band tee's of bands they listen too
wearing vintage and retro clothing
likes reading
being in a cafe
organic food
vegan.
Stereotyping a group is all people did.
Now I can't wear things or do things
because some *** hole is going
to say
**"Ha you're such a ******* hipster!"**
Why don't we stop hating people on what they wear
because how do you expect to get past
racism
homophobia
sexism
ableism
fatphobia
transphobia
prejudice
if we can't even get past how people dress?
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
when you looked in to my eyes,
i had the strangest feeling,
flying rodents in my tummy,
retro waves came rolling in,
witches and their brooms,
soldiers at war , fighting and weaponry,
car crashes into the lake, with fire and debris,
clowns making entertainment amusing at the circus,
make you happy with one kiss unless its worth it,
stuck in a dream wave,
retro waves that came rolling in.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Chekhov and Murakami came to me in short spurts of memory; as if the life of a keyboard was a retro invention sinking the ancient sea bona fidelis. Temper Fidelis and sorry larks wish upon the galoshes you wore to repeated proms instigated in large moral distances between burning barns (it's a dangerous hobby). Starved for trapped frogs with claws and violence was a question answered in blood so two wrongs made a state of nothingness free of wrong or right (***you nihilistic ***** she suggested a better drink to pick at Starbucks: 'a flaming frappucino at 140 degrees.' (what are you, some angry Russian aristocrat contemptuous of an English wife T-minus a decade ? )close-bracket)
God is sick of two things: my continued and addicted references to Judaeo-Christianity and the dragged sympathy of humanity for his lost son ("it's been 2013 years for Chrissake")
you melt on me like a strange evening spent with a stick of butter
self improvement 46% complete
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
Chekhov and Murakami came to me in short spurts of memory; as if the life of a keyboard was a retro invention sinking the ancient sea bona fidelis. Temper Fidelis and sorry larks wish upon the galoshes you wore to repeated proms instigated in large moral distances between burning barns (it's a dangerous hobby). Starved for trapped frogs with claws and violence was a question answered in blood so two wrongs made a state of nothingness free of wrong or right (***you nihilistic ***** she suggested a better drink to pick at Starbucks: 'a flaming frappucino at 140 degrees.' (what are you, some angry Russian aristocrat contemptuous of an English wife T-minus a decade ? )close-bracket)
God is sick of two things: my continued and addicted references to Judaeo-Christianity and the dragged sympathy of humanity for his lost son ("it's been 2013 years for Chrissake")
you melt on me like a strange evening spent with a stick of butter
self improvement 46% complete
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
unsure, uncertain,
of the laws invested
in the realms and reams
of poetry ingested,
am i addict,
or supplier,
retail consumer
or
wholesale supplier,
a mom & pop candy store,
or a metastasizing intelligence
that takes any thing, and all,
a solitary letter,
an instance of a sighting,
a gasping palpitation
and reformats it into
a hehe literary madhatter^ piece
you supply, I demand,
I supply, boy oh boy,
do I ever, but you never,
come to me directly asking,
write me a poem, thick or thin,
witty fitty or an overly looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong
e~pistle (a/k/a e~pistol)
yet the trade goes on and om,
the marketplace never closes,
except when periodically the
gatewaykeeper is slow to pay his bills,
and the trading centres are global scattered,
young entrepreneurs try to sell a single
piece, as if it was breaking news history,
and tired old men, review their lived,
eager to memorialize, so it's ok to forget,
in retro!spect perspective,
the mirror who cannot lie,
states affirmatively, you are
both ****** and dealer,
a corporation scientific
of ancient biblical origins,
a psalmist, a deacon,
a lyricist, but thankfully
not a singer,
an essayist who writes best
when ****** by tawny port wine,
who snatches inspiration with
equality of equity,
(wait! that's wrong,
the equity of equality,)
where he can
find, ***** city streets, the deaths
of heroes, the sunrise calm miracle
he drinks in daily, by rivers, by seas,
by estuaries brackish, and streams
of watered purity, the riveting bays,
the individualized glisten deflected
into my eyes, that each
contains one pure blessing within…. nml
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:24 AM UTC
Pretty Little Cup Cake Store:
I walk through the door.
Somehow I think it will
Cheer me up.
A white iced-pink sprinkled cupcake
Will help me forget.
While unwrapping the trendy black and baby blue doted baking paper
Will bring back the past again.
But, even I know it is a ruse
A joke I play on myself.
You know the owners are some super hot soccer moms whose family invested in their latest project.
Those **** bakers with pretty white aprons
And size two retro-pink waitress uniforms;
Smiling and cooing at the lavender infused cake
That makes this treat go down so smooth.
A gluten-free icing with a garnish of kumquat.
This will land their pictures on the local news.
I am not a size two.
I will just as soon eat a nutty-buddy by Little Debbie
But, this trendy cupcake cafe, makes me feel I am one of those
Pretty ladies in the retro pink waitress uniform.
Kinda like a celebration, for a party of one.
I am not a hot pretty stick chick
I will buy four, five or six of those pretty cupcakes.
Pretending I am buying a hostess gift.
But, the truth.....
My husband forgot that we married
8 years ago this day.
I will pay too much for too little product: but the cake box is cute
I will sit in my car
Eating, till my teeth hurt.
I will rationalize; that I will cleanse tomorrow.
I will go home.
He will ask how I am, while staring at the TV.
"Shussh" he will say, "I'm trying to hear."
There is no use to remind him
He will play the tired "I'm-in-the-dog-house game."
I prefer stuffing four, five or six pretty little cupcakes
Into my mouth then listening
To his tired apologies, weak little lies and false promises of a planned
Surprise.
Instead; I will go to my room; then my private bath:
I will stick my fingers down my throat
And cough up my life.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:27 PM UTC
mean beam bottom ***** without reluctance.
\\ air above \\
since forever baby boy: since forever liquid sparkler.
he has sense
& peanut butter jelly geography to his page.
his romance is of the west.
his eyes are of dandelions kicked & to the wind.
he moves like ancient turtle migration.
reaches feet to sidewalk \\ sand to depths \\ ride \\
night:
velcro-tightened mind withstanding.
party lights, ***** willows, retro punch, he
is orpheus descending: with all the elements positioned just so.
\\ jellyfish electric \\
he says he likes the loneliness.
he says it’s the water.
& so he moves \\ wills himself into the next measure.
liquid resolute bits.
so move \\ orca \\
curl of eye \\ so ride \\ black rollo wave \\
basilica \\ & \\
coral reaches below \\\\\
he likes to tell it, with warmed exaggeration.
slow-motion buffalo stampede. ride the railroads free & easy.
orange glowing bars of elsewhere. oscillating seal calls.
oily portland hipsters howling on the beach. those
juno cheeked rosy-red lips.
somewhere, sister getting married.
spring, summer, fall, winter, spring.
africa girl on a branch of a tree of a forest, overlooking elephant burial grounds.
color & white material:
plantations, gas stations, diners, & sharks.
this is the morning lunar \\
sweet blue beach of the old & awakening.
he crawls out & into her breaks.
her deep heights & bombora reef. the serotonin
functions twice, exposed between thin tissues of warm-blooded neurochemistry.
human, shown.
he is as a raw page, blank, yet
dipped \\
\\ so ride \\ bulbous waves of air mother agua \\
ride \\ &
\\ ride \\ &
brew by light these occurrences forever.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
Hey guys sorry i haven’t been active recently!
|i havent been active because i have no motivation|
I’m so excited to show y’all my new content!
|everything i make is overlooked and unloved|
I hope you guys enjoyed this cover!
|they hate it already|
Make sure to Like and Comment for more!
|theyve already scrolled past it. i’m just another post on their home page|
I’m so grateful for all of my followers!
|the few that i have only follow me out of pity|
I’ve been going through a rough patch at the moment so thanks for all the support!
|nobody cares|
Here’s a drawing of @popular.artist and @talented_musician !
|ill never be as talented. ill never have as many followers|
FOLLOWING @retro_tears:
100
98
76
66
50
49
43
36
21
17
11
7
4
0
0
0
0
0
0
|im not worth it|
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:37 AM UTC
If that night could remember
it would call him back
to our Chinese restaurant
to fried rice and steaming tea
to our winter refuge of tile and cushions
60s retro black and white
Chrome legs of lacquered tables
with its mural of
our Great Wall
...winding, distant, wonder
If the snow hadn't muffled all
but our voices
we would not be—
so alone
Only I
felt his arm take its chance
around my shoulder
Guiding warmth
as good excuse as any
to touch
Two miles on foot
An arc in time
In lace of white
to hide— what might....
Below my window
“Good Night”
not enough
for troubadour
singing, pleading, stumbling...
(I worry about his long way home)
...and hardly notice...
How gently Time joins Snow
as if they cannot bare
instead, conspire
Decide the crystals
Send the flakes to sift over him
This loss needs snow
to blur his face
to fade from view....
This— tender let-down from the sky
As only snow can do...
Cover with beauty
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6o6zMPLcXZ8
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
bubble gum died Sunday of strokes at his home ,
The pink bubble gum ...
had a tiny comic strip
Little children wanted to read the comic.
in an adulterous liaison
and is born homely and with green skin.
under the hawkish gaze
in retro pastel uncool-they’re-cool-again cans,
a big splash with a peppy
emoji-like smiles on the side and some polka dots
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
consumers should felt free
... to be relentlessly
Has almost no bite.” “Full-bodied.
This tastes like a Twizzler...
“Sharper bubble feel.”
acrolein, acrylamide, acrylonitrile,
crotonaldehyde and propylene,
flavorturned into a huge mess like 'unicorn poop'
and bubble gum."
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
“All those teenagers was twerk,
take selfies and curse up a storm. …”
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
...turned into a huge mess
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
Listen to the slivering paths of the Autumn breeze
The coming velvety skies drenched in ink reflecting silver stars
Wave goodbyes to the elusive flawed brown stone with pensive eyes
A heart will gasp years ahead for callousness past shown now in tears
Remember those golden sunsets for now woeful days are never azure
Watery eyes and wrinkled mask lament a time you could have shared
A King's ransom at your feet twined with an honest heart assured
Hear the whisperings of the mockingbirds and muted cold choruses
Rainbow starlights betrays pots of gold hidden never to be found
Maidens dance retro and the harpist pluck for painters with brushes
By sunkissed shores blends of contrasts joyous in customary ponds
Smiles pure from honeyed caves same when as waxed spears plunges
Save me a place in the delights of Troy and tell Helen to send a sound
Bring me home to peace and love, rescue me from lions in golden cages
[email protected].
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Myriad summer colours of an abstract view,
Curling up between and under the far away.
I’m lost in the mix, a melting *** full of play,
My own shade of Dark, a subtle blended hue,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.
Beautiful retro splendour, asking me to stay,
Flower in her hair, white petals, edged blue,
Curling up between and under the far away.
Smiling, she raises my soul from feet of clay,
Dark and Stormy cocktail easing me through,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.
Cuban rhythm dancers give a riotous display,
Bohemian sight and sound unleashed on cue,
Curling up between and under the far away.
We sample dreams from an enchanted tray,
Allowing hearts, minds, and spirits to renew,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Curling up between and under the far away.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
the rain wet floor
the man with a birth mark in the shape of Pangea
the backwards baseball cap
the re-used meme
the re-used meme
the idea of “retro”
cumulus clouds floating
heavy &
overhead
all electrical goods just sitting on stand-by
waiting
the machines are waiting
the blueprints that are 1mm out
at right angles to the rest of the world neon lights flash downtown
reflected on wet concrete
arriving at a destination and not knowing how you got there
my glasses leave an indentation on the side of my head
my children are asleep and I can see the signs
a new Netflix series that goes on for 125weeks – I have no stamina for this –
the mundane beauty of a leisure centre
the perfection of the shopping mall
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 7:38 AM UTC
Little Box talks back
With a new set of teeth
And pink gums
A fake nose and a wax mustache
She disguises her voice
To sound like Groucho
•
Little Box opens up
And cries to her psychiatrist
I don’t know why they hate me
I’m such a sweetheart
I volunteer at the zoo
And teach Mandarin
To their bratty children
•
Little Box is not happy to see you
So she closes herself up for months
Years, decades, and two millennia!
She tacks up a sign that says
Nirvana
•
Little Box is undead
She sleeps all day in a coffin
Hands over chest
At night she cruises the mall
For juicy victims
She prefers type A
But AB if she has to
What can you say
Vampires can’t be choosy
She likes your stupid brother
•
Little Box is on the psychiatry couch
Everybody hates me
Nobody loves me
Little Box lies on her side
And spills her guts
•
What’s in Little Box
A perfect orchid
A chocolate-covered strawberry
A new iPhone
With a glittery sleeve
Amber earrings from Pushkin
Keys to a new Porsche
A retro Chanel brooch
A Getty scion’s left ear
A Czar’s *****
Gifts so rare
Please don’t stare
•
What’s in Little Box
Rancid chow mein
A sliver of cold pizza
Last week’s hummus
You’re a starving orphan
From East Brooklyn
And you’ll eat it
•
So you want to **** Little Box
You want to know her secret
She won’t open up
She won’t give it up
And you are genuinely repelled
By her filthy ribbon
•
You want to DO the Little Box
You are a sorry story
You big creep
Why don’t you get off the couch and find
A real girlfriend!
•
Boss Box
White, square, and without a soul!
•
Please don’t analyze Little Box
She’s just cardboard clogging the landfill
Her mother Precious Jade Purse
Has been regifted
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
You're so magical,
I'm so mesmerized,
I feel we walk there,
Hands in your hands,
Every time we talk here,
All instruments come alive,
I can hear them playing music,
As we sing the same retro numbers,
I feel your voice sweetly close to my ears,
As we are texting and singing the same songs,
Saying the same words of love which we exchange,
You make me feel the Mother & the Father & The Child,
And I find it going away from me - I'm no longer pessimistic,
I find your voice so magical - I'm so mesmerized - I'm optimistic,
In your voice which I find so magical - I'm mesmerized - I'm optimistic,
In your voice I lose myself - drifting away - to the land of peace & stability.
I'll secure my home - then come after 7 more years have passed by to your place,
I'll tell your dad - "Sir, I have a decent background and a lonely life..."
He might ask - "So what - would you be a bit more clear?"
I'd look at you for courage - you would only pass me a small smile...
I'll muster all the courage to say - "Do you really mind if your daughter was my wife?"
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
One hundred and fifty two posts in 2 weeks
a small camera surrounded by a sea of pink
is to blame
and be praised
Crisper, clearer, views of how I see the world,
easier than ever to see through my lens
my POV
picture it
Foot prints in the snow, beer pong, Dustin Lynch
retro diners, favorite TV shows, and hiking trips
this is me
easy to see
Words can be hard to find, ideas to describe
Hard to share your life with no one around
here's Instagram
post away.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
#*He is quiet and confident
Always does what is right
Quite a conversationalist
When relevant
Believes in keeping to himself
In a place of unknowns
Knowledge and wisdom his strength
Diligent and optimistic an achiever in life
Simple and good at heart
Understands and complements mine
Loves romantic songs
I am just the opposite
Can’t stand any
Retro is the only station, we listen to together in the car
Has little understanding or
interest of what I write
Yet, always listens to/ reads my scribbles
Our choices and tastes opposite as can be
Not, when it comes to matters of heart*#
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 1:48 PM UTC
Ready, set-
Enter the dream.
Almost like real, now,
the retro cross-section of a house,
picture: Eighties
Complete With Dishes
thrown away furbishments-
relics of frat houses past
a lonesome piano
a most questionable oven
and ***** carpets.
And a little porcelain doll
glued together many times over
arms outstretched, a perpetual please
and the head askew, cocked for
the sound of the front door
under her mothy crown
as the dust settles
as the sun goes down.
Almost like real.
But not quite.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
While I return and slow down
to the classics;
the film analog cameras,
vinyl records,
typewriters,
silent movies,
worn-out pocketbooks,
and other novelties
of the old world charm...
I also enjoy the convenience
of the contemporary;
my phone's one-click camera,
spotify premium,
notes app,
netflix,
kindle,
and other niceties
that the here and now has to offer...
And while I rev back
to the retro and vintage,
I also race forward
to the excitement and danger
brought about by the internet,
of chatting with a familiar stranger.
of exchanging laughters in electronic.
of feeling emotions from a vague, distant, technical, difficult source.
Oh, the thrill and tragedy of technology!
May 7, 2022
May 7, 2022 at 8:22 AM UTC
The one-off bag is by Louis Vouitton
The sheath dress by Dolce & Gabbana
The low-top shoes by Christian Louboutin
The vaporisation is by Sukhoi
Evening wear goes with biologicals
Retro pantsuits with a casual bomb
Alice Archer jeans for a weekend massacre
Jonathan Simkhai swimwear for an ocean boil
Ohhhhh, yeahhhhhhhh…
She turns every head when she enters the room
But The People’s Army delivers the BOOM
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
Once upon a midnight, dreary,
Top Hattie twinkles, lipstick smeary,
...spinning girls like Mischief Managed all glittery on the ball room floor,
I was taken, most completely.
...Batting lashes indiscreetly.
D'lilac lips that pouted sweetly, a Circus Girl that knew the score.
I pinched myself, could i be dreaming?
Of this Nymph, this Empress gleaming?
was her Diva charm misleading? Shoe Addicted Troubadour.
A Siren in Styletto thrilled me,
Abracadabra wish fulfilled me,
......Medusa eyes that drew, yet stilled me- Retro-Futuristic roar.
Like an Airborn Unicorn descending,
advanced upon me unpretending.
my heart of Dragon Scales extending for this Cupcake Thief I'd cover for.
"Mirror Mirror" she whispered, smirking.
Countessa Fluorescent had caught me lurking,
and sent my Great Pink Planet jerking, Cosmopopping, Centrifuchia war.
My Beautiful Rocket was set to swinging,
No She Didn't hear the ringing
in my ears the Twilight singing, to the Limest Criminal on the floor.
Jan 22, 2011
Jan 22, 2011 at 7:17 PM UTC
Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this
********
three
ring
circus sideshow of
freaks here in this hopeless ******* hole we call L.A.,
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away.
Any ******* time. Any ******* day.
Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona Bay.
Fret for your figure and
Fret for your latte and
Fret for your lawsuit and
Fret for your hairpiece and
Fret for your Prozac and
Fret for your pilot and
Fret for your contract and
Fret for your car,
It's a ********
three
ring
circus sideshow of
freaks here in this hopeless ******* hole we call L.A.,
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away.
Any ******* time. Any ******* day.
Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona Bay.
Some say a comet will fall from the sky.
Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves.
Followed by fault lines that cannot sit still.
Followed by millions of dumbfounded dipshits.
Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will cause
I sure could use a vacation from this
Stupid **** silly **** stupid ****
One great big festering neon distraction,
I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied:
Learn to swim. [x2]
Mom's gonna fix it all soon.
Mom's coming 'round to put it back the way it ought to be.
Learn to swim.
**** L. Ron Hubbard and **** all his clones.
**** all these gun-toting
Hip gangster wannabes.
Learn to swim.
**** retro anything.
**** your tattoos.
**** all you junkies and **** your short memory.
Learn to swim.
**** smiley glad-hands with hidden agendas.
**** these dysfunctional, Insecure actresses.
Learn to swim.
Cause I'm praying for the end;
I'm praying for tidal waves
I wanna see the ground give way.
I wanna watch it all go down.
Mom, please flush it all away!
I wanna see it go right in and down.
I wanna watch it go right in.
Watch you flush it all away.
Time to bring it down again.
Don't just call me pessimist.
Try and read between the lines.
I can't imagine why you wouldn't
Welcome any change, my friend.
I wanna see it all come down.
**** it down.
Flush it down.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
My future Is a retro black and white
you can have the hear to eternity
Romance can be created
did beauty destroy the beast
the clicks exist in your mind
it's so sad and beautiful
that in death we find understanding
blue and resting under the moon light
let the moment exist or make it happen
is there a right or a wrong
tread lightly on your ancestors
A throw back to the future
nomadic minds laid to rest
with the modern pharmaceuticals
take it back to a place we know
a warm comfort to wrap yourself in
but with the knowledge we have
let us search for the truth again
even if it crushes us
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
Producers are making films
On the decades of my life.
I'm sitting there, and
I think out loud:
I remember that!
At the Henry Ford Museum
They've displayed my Radio Flyer
And wooden Yo-Yo.
I lost them long ago.
Flea Markets sell postcards
Of Grand Bend Beach and Casino.
I bet my life there.
I've been told
My steel tubular kitchen set
Is retro.
I didn't know.
Classic Car Shows
Put barrier ropes
Around VWs.
They were cheap,
Dependable.
And everything's back in vogue,
'cept me.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC