"ricocheted" poems
Two young brothers are left at home,
All by their lonesome selves,
The older one notices a new toy,
Sitting high up on a shelf.
He climbs up and brings on down,
What he believes is a toy gun,
He thinks about the games they’ll play,
Boy this sure will be fun.
He aims the ‘toy’ at his little brother,
And shoots him in the head,
But that gun was not a toy at all,
And soon the three-year-old is dead.
When a child dies,
All the stuffed animals cry,
Alone on a shelf,
They sit by themselves,
In a cold lonely room,
Like a final tomb.
Johnny’s tired of being bullied at school,
But every dog has its day,
Though all his classmates seem so mean,
Johnny will make sure they all pay.
The next day at school will be different,
From a knapsack he pulls out a gun,
Suddenly he starts shooting his classmates,
Shoots them in the back as they run.
Soon most of the class has been shot,
And their young bodies are lying there dead,
With one bullet left in the chamber,
Johnny puts the gun to his own head.
When a child dies,
All the angels cry,
The tears flowing down,
On the sad little town,
It’s a cold, cold rain,
But it won’t numb the pain.
For Jose this is the biggest day in his life,
It’s his gang initiation in the ‘hood,
He must seek out a rival gang member,
With a couple of shots he’ll be good.
Jose packs his piece and extra clips,
And his driver takes him to the spot,
He takes aim at his helpless victim,
And another is dead with just one shot.
But that one bullet it ricocheted,
You hear a young mother scream and cry,
As she realizes her young son is hit,
On a cold dark street he is left to die.
When a child dies,
The whole world cries,
All lives matter, big and small,
I ask you people, heed the call,
Please stop the hate, before it’s too late,
For the future of us all.
10-27-15.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC
I am Immortal
I am Invincible
I am Imemorable
I am the blackness living deep
in the bile ducts of your lungs,
I hear you whisper my name;
and I shiver.
I have neither hero nor god:
I am that I am that I am-
ALIVE
I learned not the word caution
I know not the meaning of a future:
I am where I am where I am-
NOW
The bullet which ricocheted off my right *** cheek and exploded through my left ******** seemed to have its own voice as it whizzed by, winking, “The truth may set you free young man, but not until it is finished with you.”
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
“Get ‘em up, Teacher.”
I felt the gun at my back and had no choice but to raise fingers, and said, “Got the drop on me, eh, Judas? Why don’t you pull the trigger?”
“Forget it. We’re going to Jerusalem where I’m going to turn you over to Herod. Pilate’s holding my gang and God knows what he’s doing to make them talk—only they don’t know anything, so they can’t talk. He’s torturing them for nothing but everybody knows the only thing he wants is to get his hands on you.
I’m going to see that he does. That will get him to cut loose my boys and take the heat off me too, see? It’ll be all over the papers when they crucify you.”
“And what will the papers say about you? You don’t know what you’re doing, Judas. Do you think the Romans will let your outfit run the territory?”
“Sure they will.”
“You’ll run it all right—run it right into the ground. You’re not ready for the big dominion, Judas. You’d be getting in over your head.”
“Quiet.”
“You know Herod gets his marching orders from Pilate and Pilate takes his orders from Caesar. Where do you fit in? You’re high and mighty now but those boys will wipe their boots on you and keep right on going. I didn’t come back to get served up on a silver platter. I came to dish it out. Nobody’s going to step on me and get away with it.”
“Quiet, I said. Now move,” he prodded with his pistol.
I walked a little but stayed close to the walls and he shoved me from behind to make me go faster, but he didn’t want me going too fast because that would attract attention.
He called out to the shadows, “Simon!”
There was no answer and he got nervous. “Simon,” he repeated, not wanting to yell out loud. He looked back and forth, taking his eyes off me for a second. I dropped, and swiping a foot beneath his legs toppled him to the ground. The pistol went off and ricocheted off the wall and I kicked the gun from his hand. Simon appeared with his hands held high, the Baptist behind him pushing him along with the business end of his rod.
“What do you want to do with them, Teacher?”
I felt sorry for the saps. They weren’t any better off than when they’d started.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
Hands that look sunburned
at first blush
count the silent ticks of a cognitive clock
grasping and releasing in stilted syncopation:
one-two-three-five (must avoid the four)
Did I remember to lock the front door? Out
of bed—again—freezing feet tumble
down
into slippers
awaiting the circular inevitability. Again, again.
Pad, pad, pad:
light shuffling accompanies the one-two-three-five
pounding in the head; that mind ricocheted with worry—
worry about the front door, the evil intentions of four,
insidious germs and subsequent scrubbing-scrubbing-scrubbing
in bleach and Comet. Pad,
pad, pad to the front door.
It’s one hundred and thirty four steps, so take a baby-shuffle:
still avoiding the four.
Cold, unyielding brass **** Locked.
Deadbolt? Check. Creeping black.
Chain lock? Check. Crawling germs. Oh, god.
Pad, pad, pad to the kitchen.
Clorox-fume greetings in the sparkling sink
from twenty-three minutes before. Never twenty-four.
Clorox on the cracked fingers, blistering
out that imperceptible blackness I know it’s there
blackness choking, bleeding in the bleach.
Scrub brushes, pumice, and fingernail files
wear down the nubs where the blackness may hide.
“Shh” the steaming water soothes
as it stings, scalds. “Shh.” Burn it all out;
conclusion so comforting. So predictably round.
This is the last time I can do this tonight. Pad, pad, pad
back to the bedroom. Downey quilt beckons in lover tones,
pleading pillows nudge against that head, that infernal head
still panicking amongst the softness:
Did I remember to lock the front door?
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:14 AM UTC
i didn't say a word.
the laughter was wrapping
tight about my neck.
two ex-girls were blushing,
my glance ricocheted off,
then landed on
my clasped hands.
i wasn't in charge of the party.
i only lived where it took place.
nobody had any alcohol,
everybody drank coffee or redbull;
talked with foreign
class.
i wasn't in charge of the music.
i only owned the stereo system.
so we listened to some pop-punkshit.
i started storing excuses,
in case someone asked me to dance.
the boys were all grinning.
the boys were all christians,
while they hunted their prey.
the girls were all grinning.
the girls were all christians,
while they still ran free.
i played priest.
kept my *** on the couch,
swore celibacy with every fired neuron.
lauren was gone,
and
amie threw a party.
she invited an army of
******** dressed exs
just to remind me i
hadn't outran my guilt.
the laughter started to wane,
people looked to me to stir
the conversation.
i didn't say a word.
i didn't breathe.
the weight of the room
was too heavy for me.
i cut myself from the stares,
someone asked where i was going,
my feet kept moving until
carpet
was traded for
concrete
was traded for
gas pedal
was traded for
anywhere distant.
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 11:46 AM UTC
It was not in the road
that took me there
but the way my heart
always remained the same
rushing through college corridors,
open dissection tables,
woodwork poetry breathren.
Indestructible construction
of these cerebral plates
left me the mind of a surgeon
and the heart of a poet.
In the cold operating room
they cut open his chest-
blood gushing out and I could
see why sometimes a little hurt
could cause a lot of noise.
Ventricle, atrium.
A nick that ricocheted,
a word that spelled
goodbye.
There was a rhythm in his heart
and for once I could feel
synchronicity was never so beautiful;
almost teary-eyed
I could find those verses
lost between the veins,
quietude pumping out slowly.
Lost in the mistranslation
of his chest
till the nurse said
"Doctor, your patient's dying"
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
The snow makes this humming noise
Can you hear it?
It’s the noise
That people described
When they were huddled
Around the campfires
Telling ghost stories
Back in the day
When the ground was soaking dry
And the tank top filled days
Ricocheted off of the boys
Chasing Bigfoot thought the cornfields.
The reflection of innocence
Left my mind
When reality kissed me
With her cigarette filled breath.
Leaving me
Cold,
Rusty,
Flaking away
From the radiant skin
That brushed off the cornfields.
The snow makes this humming noise
Can you hear it?
It sounds like my friends
Moving away
From the innocence
And transferring
To the school
Of harsh expectations.
They were forced
To take daily vitamins
Consisting of impractical expectations
Left by the people
Who said that they just couldn't do it.
You see,
My friends didn't follow the boy scout honor,
They left traces of themselves
Behind the cracks of my skull.
The snow makes this humming noise
Can you hear it?
Its sounds like the snow
Is giving a close shave
To the power lines
That crackle with apprehension.
I walk about the desserted Ice cream
That has foamed over the cornfields.
My feet seem to stick
To the people who wants me
To be just like my brother,
Whenever I creep
Through the creek of snow,
I get trapped by the vacant wasteland
All I can do is wait
For I am waiting for jack frost
to **** up my last breaths.
Crushing my soul
With the rhythm
of this humming noise
The snow makes.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
She was always trying
To please
Smile, encourage,
Put them at ease
Daftness ensued
Goofy giggles ricocheted.
Her boundless enthusiasm
Though backfired.
It flailed around
And met walls
People got tired of her trying
Like an over eager licking pup
They found her presence trying.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
I could not believe my luck
To finally find a friend.
We could have taken on the world together,
I never wanted it to end.
Something had to come along and change it.
I know where we went wrong.
We both wanted to be in the same band,
But we both wrote differents songs.
We broke apart like clashing comets
Falling from out of the sky.
I guess inside I always knew
That I could never be your guy.
It wasn't that I lacked self-confidence.
It was not even that I felt shame.
We understood what the other meant.
But, the thing we wanted was the same.
I would have bet my heart on you.
But I could never live a lie.
For a while there, life was a party,
How the time flew by!
You drifted back into my world,
I was drifting far from mind.
About the time I was fragmenting,
Saturn was about to unwind.
Like a stone, I catapulted into the world.
I ricocheted liked a silver ball.
I was making up for lost time.
I would rise, then I would fall.
The colors melded hotly
As I did crash and burn.
The cynicism came with ease,
With every lesson I did learn.
I settled into my routine.
I cooled as I slowed down.
I looked you up to say hello,
And I miss having you around.
I cannot believe my luck.
That you still are my friend.
Sing your songs and tell me stories,
Like you did way back when.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
well
i
haven't talked to you in two days
which is
weird
haven't done that since
early december
we kind of collided tonight
and ricocheted apart
boy
that was quick
and then i leave
and you're asking everyone
about me
i think i'm starting to lose track
of what we're doing
where we are
how far
along
we've gone
i feel kind of bad
that i left you by yourself
but it was too weird for me
i always do something like this
personal fault
i guess
whenever something gets too unfamiliar
i pack up
and leave
i always try to tell everyone
(myself)
that i'm nothing like my mother
but i guess after all
maybe
i
am
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
Two souls collided
And ricocheted
And bounced apart
And travelled on
Two bowls of glass
Too cracked and scarred
To bear the mead
Love feasts upon
Dec 14, 2021
Dec 14, 2021 at 9:15 AM UTC
She was in love with the hydrogen bomb
the way his muscles dragged to the floor
caused grief in the streets
like the brazen antihero riding his motorcycle into the sunset
burgundy pink, leaving trails of glory and decay
between his feet
like the spit that ricocheted off the wall
into the permeated faces of
those she grew up with but held nothing but disdain
Contempt for their way of life
that so much imposed hers
there’s lead in his tongue
she drinks it with a slice of lime on the side
but she doesn’t know why
when he calls with a threat
like the whipping of knuckles
across her shimmery skin
she accepts that even the sun
causes damage
if you let it in for too long
she was in love with the hydrogen bomb
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
A puddle bloomed on his knee,
as he sat beneath the poplar,
before the church,
waiting.
Anytime now, she
would **** by on her bike
that made noises like a rabid top.
The two soggy cones, held
in his shaking fists
dripped
strawberry cream,
sticky, pungent, and pink.
He had heard that girls like pink.
Roadside gravel crunched
and spun as she
approached.
Her brown legs
were always moving, the
muscles changing—they would
have driven Leonardo mad.
She passed by
blind.
He let the pink
cones fall to the dirt with
the others. Ants gnawed on his
legs. He would try again.
Climbing on the
bridge
with hands full,
always of strawberry cream,
he wavered, nearly fell, and sat
down on the stone ledge.
Gravel ricocheted.
Sleeves,
his and hers,
touched as she passed.
He nearly fell in the water, but
she touched his sleeve,
touched him.
Pink
swirls teased
fish in the rocky creek.
He became a crossing arm with
strawberry cream cones.
Stones sprayed.
Crash.
Why didn’t
you move, you idiot,
she growled, wiping ****** stones
off her once-perfect
knees. He didn’t
speak.
I love you.
Can you move? My
boyfriend is waiting for me, she said,
standing on the pedals,
her legs still.
Numb,
he shifted,
and she whizzed away.
He looked at the gravel lining the bridge
and saw blood staining
the pebbles
red
and pink.
Sifting, them through his
fingers, he knew that on her, he had
left his mark, and him,
she would not
forget.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
I met two strangers on the internet, it was a casual encounter.
One threw tirades of capital letters that punctured my screen,
ricocheted off my eyes,
and bounced back through to the second.
One saw the other as "illiturate", which he had no shame admitting.
The other fired back a passionate counter-argument.
So zealous he was in asserting his qualifications,
he didn't even stop for breath. Or to punctuate.
I find it rather prickling that one who could afford a laptop
won't purchase a dictionary instead.
The duel pressed on, 2 a.m.
****** words and harsh assumptions.
One's heart sank, the other's I.Q. paralleled.
We build these walls up so high between us,
and pretend we can't hear the neighbors
who have built their walls pressed against ours.
This is a problem, oh we have so many of those.
Let's make one more and build them up higher
in hopes that the overbearing altitude caves in on us...
I know that my problem is much more dismal than yours--
Just look at how small the opening to my cell is!
The sky looks gray from down here.
We all imprison ourselves into our own self-pitying ignorance
and call it shelter.
We are so unique and different and beautiful
because we are humans.
Humans who know ugly words, and do ugly things
when our originality is challenged.
And even when it's not challenged
because no one dares to admit
that we all plug into the same electrical grid.
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
Harvest Moon
Black silhouettes.
The witches danced under the harvest moon.
Incantations in a foreign tongue.
Exquisite equinoctial beauty.
Harvest moon.
Hanging full in the sky.
Blazing silver.
As if corona guards her.
Autumnal feel.
Nip in the air.
Firmament illuminated glorious.
Lighting up the night sky.
Light ricocheted from mother sun.
Harvest moon.
Huge image hanging in the heavens.
Perhaps a perfect photograph.
Image saved in minds' eye.
Thrown by blessings to the skies.
Suspended on autumnal kiss.
As if a ball of glowing air.
'Tis a beautiful bright night.
Celebration of last summer's end.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
***His feelings ricocheted
Off her world
Impaling his unaware heart***
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Sepia sunlight in my mind
tints the photographs I wind
into a peachy, golden hue
like Roman mornings dancing through
that day ornate, smiling archways
as our lazy banter ricocheted
words much stronger off our tongues
as seaside air filled dusty lungs
Full of bonfire smoke that surged in between
those ripples we spoke and what I deeply mean
that sepia tint it remembers you the best
so classic so original, hide those hues in your chest
Summer glow, I watched it go
But it was too beautiful to capture
Autumn leaves, and so will we
This moment is what really matters
please know I mean it
when I say
You made this
my best day.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
my sweetheart's brass words
ricocheted in my hollow hall of a head,
the fresh priests and the ancient lords,
had fallen on their own swords,
I didn't feel like bleeding so I went to bed.
I woke to find all the people called me
slowly disintegrated in a colossal whirl,
the celestial dreams fed to an angry sea,
my weary hands were ripe, red; ready to be
in front of the painter's forgiving hurl.
the remnants struck the canvas with mad speed,
cutting, blending, burying the flickering light,
I split the transformation with a hopeful creed,
from now on I'm the freedom you need,
with a echoing clap and a weighty bellow- I broke the night.
Jan 1, 2011
Jan 1, 2011 at 9:07 AM UTC
On the first day of the year
I woke up on the wrong side of the bed
This year
Nothing changed
And yet everything changed
The bad obscured the good
Completely.
Governed by disorders
Trials galored
Tribulations were scarce
Shredding me were my emotions
As I ricocheted between mood swings
I took permanent residence in the doldrums
Walked on the razor’s edge
Sank deeper
The chasm is endless
Tripped by sorrow
I fell on my ****
Staggering, I rose
Fell then rose again
Only to be handed
Another ******* pill
Sempiternal thirst
For internal calmness
Remains unquenched
Refusing to take anything
Away from myself
Veering off the pessimism lane
Allowing the optimism
To settle in my blood
I feel compelled to admit
Irregardless of the turmoil
This has been a year of
Milestones
Transformations
Achievements
Realisations
And fractional clarity
On the blinding forest that is life
I shedded my second skin
As I went along
Not completely renewed
Almost...
Or not at all
I don’t know
I grew some *****
As they are essential in life
I blew out the candle
Lit for the one
Who will never be mine
I watched the flame fade away
But the thoughts of him did not
The road ahead is the toughest yet
I am placing the few good memories
Of the year in a jar
To carry with me
Into the forthcoming new year
These memories, it seems
Are for keeps.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
In the reverberation of ecstasy,
Before one unfolds into two,
I Love You
Silence fills the space between our lips.
I believed the flicker in your eyes.
But it was my own reflection.
Ricocheted off ice.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
Weeks since the Day of Valentine
returned,
the gift I’d had for her was
gone.
Twenty dollars, some coins were
tokens of my affection;
or the value of French words strewn across American pulp.
Insipid or otherwise--
was it the action or result I more despised?
An attempt to carve my personality
in totem
out of trees and other people's words.
To my mind it seemed like children’s doodles
on a colored pencil bookmark
that could be
****** immediately
behind a large magnet on your fridge.
But it's lost within those passages, un-deciphered,
never—turned, regardless.
Swallowed in the palms of the bookstore’s proprietor
and regurgitated on its shelf.
My plan, it seemed to be all along;
as in my first dumb year.
First grade, with little since I've learned
from pop-music, plush monkeys in middle school;
vapid loneliness I glean from
years that have been the same.
Young acquaintances have ricocheted,
as phone calls often do;
All imitate the laughing sun,
renounce
the bitter moon.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 9:50 PM UTC
When I avoid your eyes
And hold a gaze with the floor,
You can't see
Where my mother forgot to strap me into the bouncer,
And the jug my forehead ricocheted off.
When I walk quickly
And apologise for the clack of my shoes,
Reminding you that I'm still here,
You can't see
Where my lace wound itself
Around the greasy chain of my cousin's new scooter,
The primary coloured vice grip it had on my ankle
As the brightly painted metal cut.
When I awkwardly cross my legs,
In an effort to seem graceful and uncaring,
You can't see
Where I fell on the cherished artwork,
That was our hopscotch grid,
Just missing the empty tin of shoe polish I threw,
And the chalked piece of gravel
That still remains in my knee.
When I **** in my stomach
In an effort to impress you
You can't see
The lines on my skin
When, exhausted from false hormones,
Gave in and swelled,
Or the four large puncture marks
Matching four large needles,
That look like dots on di
Because I couldn't take the chance
That my meosis would fail me.
When I roll down the sleeves over my palms
To comfort myself in a blisteringly awkward silence,
You can't see
The yellow hazardous plastic bucket
Full of cannulas,
Most failed, missed targets.
If only they were the suspicious trademark of other chemicals,
As then I would have faithful veins and arteries
That wouldn't collapse
As the clear plastic parasite,
Looking to feed me poison
Burrowed itself into the crook of my arm.
When I fold my arms over my torso
Plait myself around my chest
To hold myself together,
You can't see;
The permanent pinprick
On my sternum
The black dot that had to be accurate
To align a red laser
And aim for my heart.
But on the days
I hold my head up high enough
You can see
What looks like dark shadow on my collar bone,
A bright signal flare sent out as a distress call
For a scalpel to answer.
And though I hope
And knead in creams
So marks may lighten,
If this scar fades
I will take another needle,
By choice this time,
And draw it back on.
Jul 14, 2011
Jul 14, 2011 at 8:22 PM UTC
Dart through the forest hair
Pursue till lungs give out
Sun stabbing through the unidentical branches
Clothes following an elated body’s lead
Green smells of warm air encircle
Unfamiliar perfection
Glowing back, resonating sun-light
A ricocheted laser to the brow
Legs slow to allow the brain to combine facts to form ideas
An individual matching in appearance becomes apparent
A lift of the right arm causes a lift of their left
Forward movements, an outstretched extremity receives tangible results
Reflecting wall surrounds the terrain for all that is visible
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 12:26 PM UTC
Rivulets of smoke lacerate the atmosphere as weary limbs embellish the plain;
soft flesh embedded within the dark soil.
Our wrists tarnished by the exposure to air as we kept them secrets to the wailing winds,
we feared the noise that hit the window panes as children.
We writhe within our grained bedding as we glimpse at the past
as we are met with consternation for the future.
The sunset kisses our skin, as though to elongate our presence in its gaze.
We find ourselves satiated, our bodies lapsing into lethargic planks.
The taste of wine rested on our lips as we presented ourselves to glass bottle tops;
our laughter vibrated throughout the hills; our bursts of noise ricocheted,
returned to us, and allowed us to perpetuate our curious canvas of joy.
Clouds scuttle by in the wind as though fearing to ruin our sight of the sky lost in various hues.
The birds’ songs became whispers; their secrecy only augmenting the beauty.
The paws of foxes created a rhythm of which our fingertips complied,
dancing upon the grass as the wind caressed our skin.
Our phantasms became entwined with our realities,
our palms touched and seemed bound by twine.
Such a sequence ended with the ascension of our bodies from the floor;
the moon sighed at the loss of a picture.
The wind exhaled and clouds wept,
the birds lost their songs and the foxes ran to the foliage.
We found ourselves lost but in being lost we found ourselves.
With strong hearts, swelled chests and cleared eyes,
we left the borders of vision.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC