"ringer" poems
i don't want to
have these
bipolar
conversations
where i threaten,
and apologize,
and demand,
and apologize
again
i don't mean to take you
through the ringer
to make you see violence
and mood swings
i don't mean to scare you
when i don't take
my medicine
i don't mean to scare you
when i cry
for hours
i don't mean to scare you
when i scream
and punch things
i never meant to
do those things
like keying your car
i never meant to
drop everything
and go across multiple state lines
with no plans
at all
i never meant to hurt myself
until my arms
were coated in scars
for all of the times
i self-medicated
poked myself with needles
and drank away my pain,
i'm sorry
i shouldn't have taken so many xanax
you're right
i was wrong
again
i never meant for you to be
my caretaker
i hate those words
caretaker
i should be able
to take care
of myself
i'm sorry i am not managing this illness
i am very
very
ill
i'm sorry for the times
i couldn't get out of bed
couldn't eat,
couldn't move
couldn't go to work
i'm sorry for the times
i made tons of post-it notes
filled journals with ideas
bought calendars
and organization tools
i'm sorry for getting your hopes up
i really thought i could do it this time
i'm sorry for my diagnosis
i'm sorry i didn't understand how serious this is
i didn't ask to be bipolar
i didn't ask to be born
i make cases for myself
in my head
but they're all filed as
crazy
i'm sorry i was delusional
paranoid
and afraid
i'm sorry for the drug binges
i'm sorry for melting
fading
burning
and still coming back
alive
these low lows
and high highs
you've been through the ringer
when you're only supposed to be
support, a resource of compassion...
you had to be a caretaker
you didn't ask for this
and neither did i
i sometimes questioned if it was harder on you
to live with someone with bipolar disorder
than it was for me
to live with bipolar disorder
you wanted to save me
but you realized
that i can only save myself
now i'm drowning
and my lifeline is gone
i'm trying to learn to swim
i just hope i do it
before i sink
i'm sorry for all of the ****** poetry
i made you read
i'm sorry
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
Two faced
Many minds
Shifter of shapes
Dr. Jekyll
Mr. Hyde
Past lives
Intertwined
Most mean
Few kind
All vie for equal time
All determine to shine
The writer
The fighter
Drama king
*** machine
The revolution ignite-r
The brave slave
One with
Passion and fire
The singer
Dead ringer
One who points the finger
Conspiracy theorist
Lyricist
Soulful swagger
Hip Hop demeanor
The teacher and student
The dude with attitude
And no one can refute it
A brother and a son
The one that has been shunned
One who leaves them stunned
With the selfish things
I’ve done
The secret me
The enemy
The one whose heart is numb
There are a lot of us
No stopping us
And yes there’s more to come
I’ll never alter
My alter selves
Incarcerate them
In individual cells
Even when they scream and yell
All are a part of me
And they refuse to be veiled
You ask me
Is there a pill?
A remedy…?
Because this has to
be
Insanity
Did you disrespect
My dissociative identities?
Do you really want
to make all of us
your #1 enemy?
We’re laughing
Its killing me
We flip the script easily
Me- and all of my
inner entities
Chillingly
You’re triggering
A very sad memory
Oh, what a tragedy
You’re just another casualty
Unfortunate fatality
Of my Multiple Personalities…
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
I can't say that I'm happy for you
because you were so awful to me
all your hurtful words ran me through
what did you expect me to do
simply let my broken heart be
I can't say that I'm happy for you
the ringer that you put me through
all the tears that you wouldn't see
all your hurtful words ran me through
my skies were clouded, never blue
I told you I wasn't anymore happy
I can't say that I'm happy for you
I don't wish hurt for you
just a taste of what you did to me
all your hurtful words ran me through
and, no, I can't say either that I loved you
but you brought out the worst in me
I can't say that I'm happy for you
all your hurtful words ran me through
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
As I contemplated the project of writing a persuasive essay I discovered that I would have to have a topic upon which to practice my persuasive techniques . After much cogitation and enumeration of my possibilities , pursued with such zeal that it soon resembled pedantic ostentation , I concluded that the most positive prospect I could pursue in this endeavor would be an attempt to prove irrefutably that I deserve a grade of A in this class ; if not for the undeniable excellence of my effort , then at least for the unadulterated audacity of my pretentious assertion .
In order to perform this feat first I must overwhelm your developing consternation , the frozen mastodon of your auspicious judition . To accomplish this I will cite my impeccable attendance ; which although not perfect was indeed a valiant effort in the face of public opinion whose abstinence approached epidemic proportions . I will expound on the effectual and pervasive inspirations of my in class commentary , which sparked many a heated argument or thoughtful conjecture ; and comment on the polished precision of my in class narration . I will reiterate the diversity and intrigue of my subject matter and the competence of my delivery .
Next , with all the dynamic aggression of a wind-up tyrannosaur , I will recapitulate and exemplify my arguments ; until the ramifications of my inductive collusions exceed the boundaries of your psychic phenomenon and you are forced to acquiesce into impunity .
Yes I will indeed proceed to exceed the parameters of your mind , until mesmerized by the multitudes of analogous content you find yourself , disguised as captain corpuscle , floating euphorically down stream in a think box mind gram dingy towards a sea of Colorado cool aid . Then as if all that were not enough to thoroughly torque your ringer , adamant and tenacious I will portray realms of intellectual austerity so intriguing you will be raised to new heights of enigmatism , and then I will leave you , enraptured with your own anonymity , at the edge of the new world freeway .
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
Babydoll
let me see if I can explain
this heavenly creature running thru my brain
she spins my head in constant circles
from pie faced smiles to tears of rain
a heart touched by a golden finger
thoughts of her constantly linger
late at night while I probe these keys
thoughts of a church's mass bell ringer
from out of nowhere she did appear
whispering words into my ear
hairs on my neck rise and stand
creating thoughts so very clear
sometimes I think of Raggety Ann
with maybe a touch of Peter Pan
she takes me into this fantasy world
but she is real and makes me feel like a man
closing my eyes I can see her smile
I long to hold her for a such a long while
feel her warmth wrapped in my arms
her voice on my heart's lone speed dial
yes I am one incredibly lucky guy
my head soaring so way up high
there is nothing quite like my babydoll
these words I've written tell you why
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
Midnight in Paris
oui, oui Missour, excusez-moi s'il vous plaît,
may I take your bags, welcome to the Ritz
I am most sure, you will enjoy your stay
Paris is most happy, to see you Mr. Fitz
Paris in the spring is such a lovely sight
the flowers all in bloom, the skyline at night
bright sun shinning now, maybe an afternoon shower
plan your day well before you ride up in the tower
strolling past the cathedral of Notre Dame
thinking of the bell ringer the old hunchback
like the Philadelphia liberty, the bell has a crack
the storming of the Bastille, to relieve the shame
to the Louvre for the most exquisite art
Rembrandt and DaVinci at their best
so many things to see this is just the start
to see it all would be a fantastic quest
time for a ride down the Seine river
astonishing sights this old city can deliver
a bottle of nice Vouvray to enhance the ride
a lovely local woman right by your side
now you might ask her if she likes to dance
for the clubs in Paree are oh so fine
club Lido also a great place to dine
a wonderful time, Midnight in Paris, France
Gomer LePoet
Sep 1, 2011
Sep 1, 2011 at 2:29 PM UTC
I'm a greet-you-and-meet-you professional
I get straight to the point and don't mess around.
I'll ask you how your day is,
If you found everything okay-
And if you prefer paper or plastic.
Like a superhero from a comic strip-
I'm out to make you smile in five minutes
or less.
I have the super power
To turn you away from your favorite alcoholic beverage
Or turn you on-
It all depends if you can pass the test,
the secret code to a top secret nuke shelter-
No pass, no go.
I'm like a greeting card,
Everyday; a new message.
Sometimes I'll hear about the weather,
Other times,
I'll hear intimate details which I really don't care about-
But I'll pretend I do...
Things like-
What you're having for supper,
How much wine your sister likes to drink
Or the fact that you make the best homemade sauce.
I'll get to know you the more I see you,
And like an app on your smart phone,
I'll remind you to come again.
I'll see your kids at their worst-
Moments their grandparents don't get to see.
I'll learn about your financial status,
Your marital status,
Or the fact that you don't have a status at all.
I'll take all of your complaints
And sometimes pass them someone else-
I'll hear all your requests like an overworked DJ
And if you're lucky...
Your wish will be granted.
I am a food slinger,
A cash ringer,
A handle-your-food winner,
I am grocery store cashier.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
Going left a smile
green* bluesy* drift___
Getting out of debt
The heartedly so flowery
rosy ring around
Gifted box
Valentine Rosy
I box heads over
puppy tails
cozy firey
Love diary doing the
Cutesy
Bow Wow parade
Those red hot lips
cascades
she's... the... lie...
The hue (Anchor- Blue)
Gotcha "Eyes Baby blue
Clue"
To cross my red heart
And hope not to die
The Lady's
finger (Godiva)
I-spy finger*
Heartless Diva
The fork of the road
Lies of the
dead ringer
He points his finger
Face to two face
facelift?
Boom-Boom___
a car crash just a dash
Her beats and hearts
What a crush to her
___left
Tell me sweet lies
I box gift
Oh! Yes you're___ right
Like the scoundrel
The damsel in distress
sweet morsel
I sir box like spots spread
Like the (Chickenpox)
Hearing lies tons of
squirrels
Like Botox Plastic
Rascals
I-box ties
Hallmark, I love you lies
Superman Clark
Outfoxed the ballpark
Little lies blue
big shark
Smartphone I Sir bark
Red Valentine love walk
People are the luckiest
I- wish
Close your eyes sweet lies
Sweet I-Box in Trio
CEO Watching "TV FIO"
Podcast little lies turn
into big lies
Ballot Political list
Romantic cutout card lies
Tell me, Little Lies he trips
Electric lips music chair
Open eyes full shut lips
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, hidden in his hell
Watching from the bell tower as life is squandered daily
Nobody seems to understand the truth of human frailty
But there they chime again!
It's that time again!
You know Quasimodo's still alive
Because the Bells are right on time
In the shadows of Notre Dame
A monster stalks our halls
A giant, hulking, hungry mass
Searching for ****** girls
It's the truth, don't you believe it?
The beast is out there creeping
It's much easier to see
than the demons we all keep
Under lock and key
Inside you and me
Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, hidden in his hell
Watching from the bell tower as life is squandered daily
Nobody seems to understand the truth of human frailty
But there they chime again!
It's that time again!
Quasimodo's still alive
Because the Bells are right on time
A monster forged in hate
was a man who died for love
and though he suffered the slings and arrows
of the cursed world he lived above
Quasimodo died
as Quasimodo lived
Believing that the gift of love
was the best gift we could give.
Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, dying in this cell
Lying in the crypt with arms wrapped tight 'round his beloved
Embracing his dark angel as eternally as love is
But it's that time again!
Why don't they chime this time?
The Halls of Notre Dame are still
Quasimodo must have died...
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
illumination
the sun rungs fears
pusher of its inquiry
ringer in of chore
and civil obligation
dissolving this days events
jonesing for the eve
when poaching the social solution
will bait me into the night snare
Nov 26, 2021
Nov 26, 2021 at 1:51 PM UTC
"So what is it"
"It's the chemical dreams are made of"
"it comes in waves:
the first hit you feel awesome,
the second hit you feel awful
the third hit makes you forget everything"
three hits
lightly cooking the bowl
1
this feels great
2
my heart is going to explode
3
the color drains from the world into black and white
sepia
and purple stars
the spirit molecule
and my body feels like a thousand pounds
"just close your eyes and ride it out"
fractal light patterns
and flashes of eyes
the eye of ra?
the eye of horus?
no
the Goddess Seshat
I had no idea who she was
but she was talking to me
her voice breaking through the tentacles and sound wave mesh
she said
God is weeping
and I said but why?
is it because I was bad?
and she said
no,
it's because you think you are
and his face flashed before
drenched in tears
only to be replaced by a scorpion
but I'm a Taurus and not a Scorpio
the silhouette of a bull blowing smoke
and she told me many things
she told me about me
about wisdom
about the world
then a phone ringer sounded
it was a text
and the cloud of cosmic dust particles slowly settled
It was the real world again
only this time
more peaceful
"Guess how long it's been?"
"five minutes?"
"twenty."
and I could already feel it fading away
all that's left are flashes of images and conversation
and the feeling that there was an important message
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
He's Uncle John to you, but John to the rest of us
Got a way of telling stories without the fanfare or the fuss
He can jump into any conversation, has a lot of stuff to say
and every bit is interesting 'cause that always been John's way.
There was one about his summer job before 1970,
paid to push a Swan-shaped boat off a dock in Asbury
With a grapple hook on a ten foot pole, or something of that sort
well he'd push 'em out and pull 'em in wasn't doing it for sport~
The same guy who owned the swan boats, tunneled love across the way
twice a week John worked the darkness, but preferred the light of day.
Played rhythm at the Upstage in band called 'Cory' later
workin' Perkins in West Belmar, took the name from the percolator
Around that time he grew his hair out, it was like an Afro-sheen
mistaken for Tinker, a surfboard chinker and drummer with Springsteen.
Cruisin' down around Brookdale in his '39 LaSalle
Met 'Stinky' Tink at Thompson Park, where he was singing with his pal
Hey John, you look like Tinker,
but now you favor Gere
a live ringer for Mike Richards,
and don't forget DeNir-
Oh, if you can't remember anything from 40 years ago
just ask your Uncle John who knows the time in Tokyo.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
I experience solitude
Because I act rude
The effect is compounding
The effect is dumbfounding
I'm stuck in a trend
That will never end
My rudeness they return
So my bridges I burn
My life takes a turn
For connection I yearn
All I feel are the spurs
I live a life sheltered
To avoid being peltered
By the wailing welter
My walls block hate
Which is great
But I also miss love
That travels above
My feet are growing weary from the emptiness I stand
And I can count all of my friends on half of my hand
The half with no fingers
That's a real stinger
Not hearing the ringer
I become a feces flinger
Instead of a beautiful singer
The silence is deafening
My mentality it's threatening
With pain that's resounding
Of the drain I'm rounding
And the lingering loneliness
When I am my only guest
My mind is put to the test
By a solitude that infests
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 3:10 PM UTC
Ace in the hole, I'm a ringer
**** slowing down, I'm much to eager
Won't be caught dead in a flesh filled suit
Hung up by my tie to dry
Dangling from the ceiling
I've got it figured out
In this game I'm a winner
That's the trade off when you can't down
A chicken dinner without
Feeling like a quitter because the last two bites got too much hot sauce on em...
You can say grow up
But I'll come back with **** that
Because I know that
That's just jalapenos and pineapples
KitKats and straw hats
You can't **** the rainbow if you're to stuck-up to raindance
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
*They’re almost gone now a vanishing tribe
Peddlers of fresh sweets honeys from hive
Sellers of fish heads such sundries on head
Toys and bangles and blankets for bed.
Don’t see them around those struggling men
Making the choice of voice trudging the lane
Hoping to sell one piece in dream of gain
Faceless wind ringer in sun’s bite and rain.
Gone are those plaintive cries on summer noon
Raising road’s dust on trail singing the tune
Traders of trinkets girls’ ribbon hairpin
Yoyo and plastic top with endless spin.
Why the times ruined them made them a flop
Sellers travelers with head-full of shop
Sending their song of hope past locked in door
None could now fill that space nothing anymore.*
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 7:05 AM UTC
singer singer
wedding ringer
kissing ducks and sitting ducks
waiting for the tires to screech
watching for the eggs to hatch
waiting for the gun to blow up
back in our faces
and the singe of powder will burn us up
and we'll die in fiery anguish
or maybe we'll be fine
the pond glimmers in the starlight
nature's nestle sings at night
and her heart beats out of her chest
into mine
and i sit and think to myself
of all planets i was born on
in all my lives i've lived
god **** how wonderful
is this
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
Roddy's Rooster, man! you couldn't
oust her
Standing up there on his dunghill fair
Announcing to the whole world, to All
everywhere
My **** He's the greatest doodle doer
O! that Roddy's Rooster.
He don't need no booster, does
Roddy's Rooster
He'd even go after the goose sir
Don't you fouster with this Rooster
You'd only lose sir
Now vamoose sir.
Very dapper and quite the scrapper
Patrolling his perimeter
Strutting around the farmyard pound
Invariably, henhouse bound
If you were to meet him
It'd be "Put up your dukes sir
Me! I'm Roddy's Rooster".
With his tail feathers all fluffed up
Like a feather duster
And his chest all puffed out
Quite the Dandy and always randy
What a Suitor that Roddy's Rooster
And O! what a Wooer, that wooey
doodler.
I I
He came a cropper though one day
When he fell in the Hopper
Now he's a good deal shorter
And not half as cocky as before,
Now he sits on his wall lamenting his
fall
Thinking of the days when he used to
have a ball
Has Lady Luck that Grand Old Duck
deserted him I wonder.
Sad to see, now he's a bit gammy
More Bandy than Dandy
He still South's in the Summer
But has doubts in the Winter,
Now he likes to crow his woes and
lows away
Climbing up onto his dunghill, he
greets the day
But now in a high shrill falsetto
voice
He sings in a whole different way
" I've been round the Ringer but I'm
still quite a Dinger
**** a Doodley Doo"
Now... now he's a ****** Blues singer!
O! that Roddy's Rooster.
Roddy's Rooster Yeeaahh!
Mar 17, 2020
Mar 17, 2020 at 10:29 AM UTC
Wireshell trash can sweep-brushed
by Fusion, Alero, Chrysler Something.
They’re filled to the brim like sepia-stained
skyscrapers with swivel chairs and water cooler
pow-wows. Boss’ talking fax machines
and projections for the second fiscal quarter,
flipping a stock EKG reading on its *** We’re
all millionaires. All up like the NYSE at seven o’clock
in our living rooms watching the fireplace
playfully threaten our investments while CNN
sends money through the VCR slot. Cars, no
garbage trucks, cars, cars, scraping hubcaps off
the high sidewalks like beautiful harpsichords.
Neighbors. Suitcases and dresser drawers
packed tight with meat tape, paper towels,
and coffee mugs/fine China make heaped trash bags
seem obsolete. There’s no garbage here.
Downtown’s neon district makes enough
that they could afford a glowsign on every window,
every square inch of every lunch special, gallery opening,
or Salvation Army bell-ringer.
Forget New York,
we're the city that never sleeps.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
A rose atop the grenadine stairs
Signifies a portrait of love aflame
In memories we wish for the impossible
In life we wish to surpass reality
"Let dreams inspire life," the opportunist sighed.
When you're nice enough
No one gives you a second glance
Shrieks from down below
Make my pencil move slow
And the heart beat a double step
To a dance floor illuminated by the drunken
She nods," Another night, another life, another dollar."
Musing on this, I tip back
Seeing the slack in her black neck tie
Loosen
Revealing God's only mystery to me
Instead of five paces
Lets make it ten
I want to live longer
The sun is in just the right spot - the moon too -
To die today
"Don't you bet on no heaven boy," the preacher snickered.
"I only made one bet in my life," I said," And that
Bet was with the devil himself."
"Who won?" the crowd asked cheering.
"Who you think?" I answered back yelling.
A hush
Is more sacred
Then
Butterfly wings or
The reflection of the sun
On a moving river or
The wind through the needles
Of a young pine or even
The limp ear lobe of a naive deer
Since the seer is away on business
We will have to make do with
The good book and a bottle of whiskey
"Whiskey?!" shouted the bartender, "No one's
Ordered a whiskey water around here for YEARS!"
"I believe it," I muttered, "The only thing that suits me."
"Hombre?" he whispered, "You from around here."
"I'm from around here as much as anyone else is," I said, "We all just
Passing through."
Buzzer goes off
Ringer echoes through the hallway
Flash of light stabs through the pink window shades
A moan
From a man
Whose name is not known
Down near where
The car was parked last night
Instead of love
Give them faith
Instead of hate
Give them hope
Instead of justice
Give them free will
Reason will have to be the dagger
They **** each other with
Deep set cloud white in its sluggish passing
I knew a woman once that used to be my mother
We all change, don't we?
A number is just a number until it's a name
Take care, dear collide
Stores are emptying
And so is the bride
When the winter sets in
And the winter pass is filled
Take hold to whatever you've got
Every minute is our time
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
step right up to this broken machine
she'll take anyone
look at this queen
she's shiny and new with smiles so bright
every step she takes is light
her colours are more than a rainbow can boast
she has more than any
she has the most
they drift in the wind and fall from her fingers
her joy is infectious
she's contentment's dead ringer
this machine never stops
that's why its so popular
people will travel far
there is no other
none so dedicated to her job as this
she's a volunteer so surely she loves it
but a crisis strikes every once in a while
the machine won't admit it, she's in denial
but her colour store is personally supplied
if she told you it's abundant, surely she lied
this machine has colours she enjoys sparing
but to spend her whole life as this machine is daring
machines must be turned off
must be unplugged
this machine never does because help is her drug
she goes and she goes until she overheats
her colours start melting
they run through the streets
these runaway colours are scooped up and scrounged
meanwhile the machine is left on the ground
she rusts while it rains, there on the ground
no regard for the girl whose rainbow
seems to be gone
look how she lays so
curled up and crying but not from her loss
crying because her aid is the cost
with no regard for herself she whispers
"if I take a break, look at who suffers"
but the rainbow too must be regrown
it can only take time and care and sweet tones
encouraging words to let her know
she's not alone, she will never be thrown
from this world with contempt
because love exists
but love may not always come to you free
sometimes there is just one fee
it isn't much... just to ask
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
TOMATO CHASE
Now....
Out of season
They're reddish
Uniform in size & shape
Firm
And flavorless
In season
They're RED
All sizes and shapes
Firm, soft, some just right
And flavorful
Yesteryears
They were magic
Like the transformation of a caterpiller
The little yellow flower
Gives way to the tiny green marble
Stalk n stems grow bigger
Marbles grow larger
The green fuzzy rough stems
The scent
That wonderful smell
So unique to the tomato plant
They turn green to red
Some even get incubated on a sunny sill
When it's time
Knife reveals seeds and red splotched juice
And the TASTE
A taste that fades with our age
That TASTE that we chase every summer
Close
But never a ringer
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 10:23 AM UTC
She only needed three fingers;
one for demands, one for insults, one to show love.
Her pinky made her feel too prim,
and her thumb made her feel like too much of an ape.
She had no need to hold on to anything,
and no reason to open any doors,
she just wanted a little silence from the thunder
and to see the cracks in the ground on a hot day.
One set of clothes for the doctor,
one set of clothes for the preacher,
and one set of clothes for the home.
She still has a forest green rotary phone with the ringer cut out
just incase the stove gets angry or the roof caves in.
She hated the Beatles and probably hates us,
but that's okay, we're not all that special, are we?
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
Its too late for your "I'm so sorry"
Its to late for your words coated with lies
Its far to late for your "I have changed I promise"
You put me through so much pain
You told me it was all my fault
You made me feel worthless
I let you put me through the ringer more times then I can count
I let you tear me down brick by brick
The damage you created was catastrophic
Every part of me was destroyed
but I was so blinded by my love for you
I couldn't see all the scars you had placed on my heart
The day you left I felt my heart start to bleed
All the pain came rushing in
All the scars you placed began to hurt
I bandaged my self up and kept moving
I pretended to be fine
but with each passing day I felt the pain more deeply
No you wanna come back again
You come slithering in like a snake
Ready to strangle the life out of me
But I have become immune to your venom
The toxicity you brought to my life
Will never inhabit within me again
I have grown and became someone you have never known
I know my worth and all I have to offer to someone
That someone just is not you
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 10:45 AM UTC
Is she like Calypso
in The Camomile Lawn,
knelt down and speechless
by the fire, resembling
Jennifer Ehle so closely,
as the camera lingers
at her being naked as a jaybird,
and quite comely at that?
Or is she perhaps
more like Felicitas
in Flesh and the Devil,
a dead ringer for Greta Garbo,
who brazenly encouraged
illicit love and rivalry, only
to go quietly by falling
through thin ice?
Sometimes the siren's call
is more a winsome variation
in its silence.
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
I sit in an ordinary seat
in an ordinary office
with an ordinary will to live
and a cactus
I am surrounded by people with ordinary habits
and clothes
the window is opened at the usual angle
and the volume of the ringer is on default
we look at each other in an ordinary way
(No love/ no anger with a dash of hope)
we have families, lovers and cats in ordinary numbers
(They calmly invade our minds on our tea-break)
we work shoulder to shoulder sweating
with no fear of Evil or God
we have no ink in the printer, no problems, no money
no elevator
we have similar names, ordinary haircuts and shoes
we have a receptionist who eats carbs
the second floorboard, the one on the right as you come in after you punch the code and give it a good tug
is squicking
I am told that’s new
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC