"rogers" poems
I believe it was the sawdust of summer when I found your voice in a shadow of a song it reminded me of my past hurt. You sang so beautifully of lilacs and photogenic water, you build harmonies powerful enough to save angels in a storm.
Quickly I caught on and held tight to your butterflies you called lyrics. You spoke of love like you had a doctrine in it. I thought for men love was a learning curve. You proved me wrong. You did not just create music and magic you birth colors out of sound and called them stories.
You blurred the lines between reality and fantasy. I bet your music is similar to the way God speaks. I bet you discovered a guitar inside of a black deity and the piano inside of a white devil's broken heart.
Prince, I bet you can play anything even the fossils of flowers.
Your music is an endless drug, a purple high. Listening to you made me feel like all four seasons cuddled up with a kiss.
Tell me when did you get tired of playing love songs?
When did balancing the moon and a microphone become all too much for you? Who choked the life out of your vocal chords? **** I would give almost anything to hear you live again! To wear your songs in my ears like Heirlooms. Oh Wait, I think I get it. Is this how you go beyond means of self to teach us dead silence is music too?
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
In a city full of fake thugs and now record beef they just settle it with 8 slugs
There rose a kid from out of Rogers parkway who kicks slow flows containing dopamine in the bars I slay like Dre Day I'm celebrating out the melon insane like dry water the sheep I'll slaughter like a psychopathic ********** with a daughter
Allow me to introduce Nero The Damphir psychotic and I kick knowledge like a field goal my pen is spinning the rumpelillest gold causing static with the lyrical automatic I splatter brains on the floor it's a nasty habit to endure.
I'm Chicago's poet I spit knowledge and split spines with the rhymes so solid no one will notice I roll this ***** up like the best cest and smoke it unless you take it off the wax and into the turf I'll make you taste the salt of the earth and after you're in the dirt I'll bear you like Paul you have no chance at all against me the pen is all I need to destroy then employ my victims my rhymes stay within them like That dude they net in juvenile detention center I'm centric on hip-hop that is I got love for cold crush sugarhill grandmaster flash and whodini Wu-Tang naughty by nature and Cypress Hill
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
Here are the names of my lovers,
The women I sleep with, whom
I use, like they use me.
Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs
Satiated, they climb aboard another man.
What they do not know,
Is that in my mind, in my ears,
everywhere,
I did not let them, or you go,
We are still romping,
For I
Take them as needed.
I need them all,
For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart,
Addictive, endless.
If your is name is here, I do not
Apologize.
Pink
Adele
Lilly Allen
Anna Nalick
Bess Rogers
Beyonce
Brandi Carlisle
Cat Power
Colbie Callait
Duffy
Eva Cassidy
Evanescence
Alison Sudol
Fiona Apple
Florence Welch
Grace Potter
Ingrid Michaelson
You
Joni Mitchell
K.D. Lang
Kate Nash
Kate Voegele
Leona Lewis
Lizz Wright
Madeline Peyroux
Marie Digby
Mary Wells
Norah Jones
Regina Spektor
Sara Bareilles
You
Sara Haze
Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman
Tristan Prettyman
Vanessa Carlton
So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces,
Which can't be googled.
Use them hard, use them often, more than daily.
Bluntly, I tell you
Your name is on my list,
Even if I do not disclose it.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
membranes bleed in classic fashion
seep into my brain with passion
pump my heart with fuel and tension
feeling like a villains henchman
blow me baby, how did i know?
one more chance to powder my nose
i see whiter than the snow
and i dont know how far i can go
mr rogers asks for entry
everything gets past the sentry
powdered sugar makes me antsy
for whatever suits my fancy
im too focused for my brain
all the colours look the same
bow to gods that i dont need
if it'll cause my nose to bleed
blow me baby, how did i know?
one more chance to powder my nose
i see whiter than the snow
and i dont know how far i can go
blow me baby, how did i know?
one more chance to powder my nose
i dont know how you could appose
i'll just lay here taking several blows
i need you cause i want you bad
the sweetest girl i've ever had
is whiter than the winter's snow
i love it when she's in my nose
oh, i've been told to get in line
that my whole lifes a waste of time
but i've got everything i need
as long as i can do the deed
blow me baby, how did i know?
one more chance to powder my nose
i see whiter than the snow
and i dont know how far i can go
blow me baby, how did i know?
one more chance to powder my nose
hardly straight, no arrows bow
an early start for whole new lows
Tonsils set aflame
I can't complain
I've only got myself to blame
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
NEW YEAR INTROSPECTION PART THREE
*first read "Audition" by Lauren Rogers:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/audition/*
far too often,
audition i,
my self i daily
place on parade,
call it a model’s runway
or an actor’s stage,
all the while forgetting
already i’ve been given
the part of "me",
having already been deemed
most uniquely
and completely
qualified to play
and having already been voted
most likely to succeed
as an actor of me!
and most of all
having already been handed
the writer’s script,
a whole ream, all blank page
for me to write
and then perform
for each of you
on life’s beautiful stage;
which, begs the question...
who called the audition?
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
we leave by passing through.
by outlasting
roots.
by grooming deep runes
like arabian
horses....
mountainous [ pontoons ]
spine crack
liqueur
of soft doom
and true Orchids...
the ******** aftermath of covenants
at half mast
a limp flag of jolly rogers
pettifogging
dull noggins.
we pass through, phantom roosters
ante-Bantam
in the Bedlam....
Conscience
Chauntecleer
as
Opaque.
our blood has new boots
and now our hearts
can Mussolini
{ you strangle The Headless Horseman; as i lust for your Ichabod }
no cranes.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
I want to be the Ginger Rogers
to your Fred Astaire
the rocks of ice
in your Jameson glass,
I want to be the girl
you sing about
or the lit cigarette
your lipstick marks
Chanel rouge noir,
I want each embrace
you encounter
to touch me too
through the spaces,
I'd even be the words
in the book
you lift to read at night,
I just simply want to be
every single
missing piece
you've ever felt
or ever needed,
I want to be Cupid
stealing your heart
selfishly for
my own pleasure,
oh what toil and trouble
a girl unhinged
her unbalanced mind
bursting bubbles of blood
through her boiling passion
deep within the skin.
© Sia Jane
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
A well-rehearsed dance,
the waltzing waitress tosses The Times
on table 1 as if she’ll actually finish
the Sunday crossword this morning.
She won’t.
Grease lined lights flicker on one
by one.
Like spotlights on a stage.
It’s show time.
Twostepping while taking down chairs,
she flows to the rhythm of ritual,
across a worn checkered dancefloor.
No applause.
In a dining room of Astaire’s and Rogers
she is the coffee choreographer.
Pirouetting to the ***
then a sidestep, quick! Quick!
Slow.
Warming up now, she stretches.
Switching on the metal machinery.
It grinds and growls as if it prefers
decaf.
Rings from rusted bells
hanging from the door chime
to the beat. This is her
cue.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
The winding drive along the sea
I took so many times
to steal away from anarchy
to pacify my mind
The city sirens come undone
before the ocean spray
then down the hill to U.S. 1
and thus begins the day
The Pier receding to the South
Will Rogers to the North
Topanga is the turn we seek
as we are going forth
The starkness of the hills and pines
the rivulet below
as Westward the Pacific shines
beneath the morning glow
The twists and turns I still recall
though roads are better now
no unpaved sections left at all
nor farmland for a cow
No Austin Mini Union Jack
the landmarks too have changed
and I so lost since coming back
I almost feel deranged
The Health Food Store with hitching post
the horses canter past
the countryside I love the most
and visit now at last
But on Mulholland Highway there
surprises lie in wait
there’s razor wire on the fence
and horses at the gate
As giant dishes aiming deep
into a mountain wall
so Orwell’s promise do we keep
applying it to all
But I remember still the day
the hillside turned to fire
the way to turn had burned away
the sky was black with ire
And in a wide spot in the road
in reverence did we stand
a fox, a hare, my dog and I
all watched the burning land
Can nothing make us feel as small
as fire pure and cruel?
to know it as a cunning foe -
to know we’re naught but fuel
But through the smoke a fire truck
led us down on Kanan Dume
toward the cleaner seaward air
away from certain doom
And all at once the trial was o'er
for we had reached the sea
as once Carrillo had before
and now my dog and me
We pass the house of river stone
Moonshadow’s Restaurant
and even Tidepool Gallery
for years my favorite haunt
And back to Santa Monica
on PCH we drive
admiring still the beauty
yet more thankful we’re alive
The winding drive along the sea
I took so many times
to steal away from anarchy
to pacify my mind
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
Doctor and Mrs Granger
took Mrs Thrift to the zoo
she was captivated by the antics
of the Zambian gnu
Doctor Granger took a photo of her
outside the lion's cage
he instructed Mrs Thrift not to upset
the lion as he'd go into a rampage
Mrs Granger was going to make a cup of tea
for all of them on their return
but she couldn't boil the water
as there was no water for the urn
the electrical pump on the water storage tank
had blown up
so there was no water at the Granger compound
to fill the tea cups
as soon as I heard about the water pump
at the Granger compound
I phoned Major Rogers
to bring his electrical repair kit around
he took a little over an hour and a half
to fix the ailing pump
so we'd be able to have a cup tea
whilst sitting on the tree stumps
next week there will be a recess
from the Granger tale
as the writer is going to take care
of her mountain load of mail
she appreciates the many good reviews
of the Granger series
and thinks that the fans of the said series
are a lovely lot of old dearies
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
NEW YORK STATE OF MIND
Walt Whitman
walks by me
somewhere in 1891
I nod to him...he nods to me
lost in himself
Clinton is being inaugurated
Brooklyn Bridge
saunters by
dressed in the summer of '67
the subway
wears its best graffiti
the music of trains and Coltrane
the Flatiron Building is jaywalking
the Empire State
chats him up
a child's hopscotch
almost washed away
a moment's masterpiece
Robert Moses
looks across Long Island
longs to build the city only he sees
he gazes into my future
I look into his past
I pass Robert Mapplethorpe
a man in a white suit
nailed to the darkness
by so many stars
an old saxophone player
busks Rogers and Hart in Central Park
"...I didn't know what time it was..."
two obese Chinese
take up most of the sidewalk
both speaking fluent - Irish
Leaves of Grass
lies scattered across the road
read now by the wind
a car caught in traffic
blares out Joel's
"New York State of Mind"
I laugh at such
a happenstance
a walk-on-part in my own movie
escaping the borders
of the body
I walk through times
I am all the times
of the world
they intersect in self
Walt and I
sitting on a park bench
waiting to go somewhere else
an 1990's rain
falls on an 1870's NY
they are beginning Brooklyn Bridge
I meet my self
coming and going
an older and a younger me
time held prisoner on the wrist
I turn and walk away
into this the newest of centuries
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC
Will Rogers used to say he never met a man he didn’t like.
I admire people like him.
But I’m not one of them.
I meet people I don’t like every day.
It just happens.
Little Grudges, my friend Sal used to say.
“You have a lot of little grudges.”
My neighbor for example, banging the trash can lids
Outside my window
Two in the morning
Not that it woke me up
But I get up to look
Peek down there
Naturally nosey person that I am
And he’s pushing pushing
What in hell is he pushing at that hour?
So, Will Rogers I am not.
I probably wouldn’t have liked him either.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
A man called Prince
The spiral of time
Talent with singing vibes
Instrumental with the flowing strides
Creativity all comes to mind
Purple showers in counting blessings
The remembrance in heart all will remain
Singing and dancing that took its final bow aim
It was Heavens moment that would allow
One dance and the soul strived up
The continuing pouring rain that filled the cup
Heavens name with Prince
He wasted no time and answered at once
Time with a limit
A commitment to perform
A date with Heaven
A Prince that became God’s servant
It was the applause
The extended hand
Welcome Home Prince
Now we don’t do R&B; up here
It’s praises of songs in how we preserver
We treasure your talent
Here in Heaven, no need to be silent
But we welcome you still
You are here in Heaven being God’s will
What’s in a name, but from Prince, you are under God’s name
Prince, it was you life in music in the move and soothe
The rhythm and harmony with the groove
To the world, you were a celebrity with talent to prove
Your talent captured the Lord
But it was all part of the Earthly accord.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
you left your imprint
on mother earth herself
in our hearts you left your voice
you gifted us with melodies
of most valuable wealth
charismatic grace across the stage
you never did it for fame
originality legendary perfection
spiritual soulful being of peace
from the very first note we heard
music hasn't been the same since
others may have had their King
but we had our Prince
humbled at the idea
success doesn't mean it's over
and openly giving your life to Jehovah
doing good deeds behind the scenes
you were careful and serene
artist first, entertainer came next
you never disappointed the world
until the day you left
and here we all join hands and reminisce
oh the years you got us through
joy, love, hurt, progression
defeating the evils of the industry
giving us hope in oppression
and as we watch the doves cry
we wipe our tears too
how much you're adored
if you only knew
the thunder rolls and we feel the first drops begin to fall
it doesn't erase the emptiness one bit
but it brings us to a crawl
you never meant to cause us any sorrow
you never meant to cause us any pain
so we will be here
bathing in the Purple Rain.
We love you forever Prince Rogers Nelson.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
Almost
by Michael R. Burch
We had—almost—an affair.
You almost ran your fingers through my hair.
I almost kissed the almonds of your toes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
You almost contemplated using Nair
and adding henna highlights to your hair,
while I considered plucking you a Rose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost found the words to say, “I care.”
We almost kissed, and yet you didn’t dare.
I heard coarse stubble grate against your hose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
You almost called me suave and debonair
(perhaps because my chest is pale and bare?).
I almost bought you edible underclothes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost asked you where you kept your lair
and if by chance I might ****** you there.
You almost tweezed the redwoods from my nose.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
We almost danced like Rogers and Astaire
on gliding feet; we almost waltzed on air ...
until I mashed your plain, unpolished toes.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
I almost was strange Sonny to your Cher.
We almost sat in love’s electric chair
to be enlightninged, till our hearts unfroze.
We almost loved,
that’s always how love goes.
Keywords/Tags: Almost, love, lost love, loss, lost, relationship, relationships, hesitation, procrastination, hesitancy, vacillation, near, near miss, nearly, close call, miss you, missing you, missing, loneliness, lonely
Jan 6, 2022
Jan 6, 2022 at 8:54 AM UTC
Reached in and picked a winner
from your box of stock phrases.
Finding ways
to roll zero on 2d6.
You fuckin' missed
**** the bed!"
I guess you're no Kenny Rogers.
Longer losing streaks familiar
to the wisdom of a betting man.
"Carpe Diem" on your calf,
laugh your way to the bank.
But put a stutter on your chuckle
'til the day they seize your wages.
If it "happens for a reason,"
fold your cards and hold your tongue in.
Hold your tongue and
clamp your teeth.
"What it is is what it is."
That's a "tautology."
They taught me that one in college,
when I took critical theory!
If you seek an explanation,
you're just critically faulting
on your dice rolls
and your debts.
Reached in and hit the bottom
of your box of stock phrases.
Finding ways
to keep afloat on empty words.
You fuckin' missed.
"Feeling blessed?"
Turns out you're no Kenny Rogers.
Longer losing streaks familiar
to the wisdom of a betting man.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
The Flak hits the wings and body of the plane
506th Easy Company
Of the 101st Airborne
The leg bag
Tore right off
They jumped lower than they should have been
Tracer bullets burning holes through the parachute
Tracers spraying around in the air
Firing in every direction
Paul "Buck" Rogers
Lands in a tree
Some worked their way down
Through a farm area
To a hedge row
Easy Company captured and destroyed
The guns at Brecourt Manor
Saving countless lives on Utah Beach
They helped to liberate the Dutch
Angels from the sky
The black and white footage is amazing
The gratitude and love the people show
To the men is wonderful
Finally free after four years
Of Occupation by the Germans
Battling from village to village
Along "Hell's Highway,"
Easy Company crossed Holland to the Rhine River
Nine men of Easy Company
Lost their lives
Battling in Holland
By the End of the Holland campaign,
Easy Company had been on the frontline
For more than 70 days
On Dec. 16, 1944
****** launched his offensive into the Ardennes
The Battle of the Bulge would become
The largest engagement
In the history
Of the U.S. Army
600,000 soldiers would fight in the battle
Easy Company was told to hold the perimeter of Bastogne
Surrounded by Germans
Branches knocked off of trees
Holes in the ground
Artillery attack
88s, mortars, rockets
They jumped into foxholes
He could see all the shells hitting from the foxhole
The wounded got relief from battle
Maybe a ticket home
If they died they were at peace
At Berchtesgaden
They uncovered artwork
In Zell Am Zee, Austria
Easy Company helped secure
The surrender of 25,000 German troops
On November 30, 1945
The 101st Airborne Division
Was inactivated
Day after Day
They fought together
Fought for each other
Knowing some would not return
This veteran said,
"I cherish the memories
Of a question my grandson asked me the other day.
'Grandpa, Were you a hero in the war?'
Grandpa said no
But I served in a company of heroes."
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
If I fall asleep tonight,
never to wake up.
I'll dream of the brightest light,
and you're unending love.
My ears will ring with laughter,
the air filled with white.
Our families merged together,
and your hand grasped in mine.
If I were to close my eyes,
and take my final breath.
My thoughts would be of blue skies,
and the heart beat in your chest.
Of a growing stomach to rest my hand,
with gleeful kicking feet.
And your courage there to help me stand,
when I fear I am too weak.
If you were to ask me,
what my fondest memory would be.
I'd have to tell you simply,
it was one I'd yet to see.
So if I died today,
I'd miss an awful lot.
Like our wedding, and our baby.
Like the house we'll fill with love.
Dedicated to Sean Rogers.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
It is with great sadness that I must announce that wit has withered and died. Actually, it probably died years back, but, like a character on a soap opera, it returns in flashbacks on occasion.
The ability to use wit to insult, as Will Rogers, Dorothy Parker, and the great writers of the past is no more. The use of wit to make someone leave feeling good about themselves, while having just been put in their place verbally, is an art.
I told someone the other day that he was a veldt of intellect, he didn’t know what veldt meant, I could see from the complete look of “duh” on his face. He told me **** off….and then after I laughed, he said it again.
This is the replacement comeback now….fuck off. Witty…at the least. Groucho Marx, was great with the witty comeback, Noel Coward was a genius with his ability to use wit to disarm a situation. Now, **** off. yep….that’s it.
If, wit has a resurgence and there is a verbal afterlife, let’s hope **** off is left at the door, holding a copy of watchtower.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
Like Batman beating the Joker
I'll gonna protect you, I swear
No need to be bitten by the spider
To clear your deepest nightmare
I'm Ironman and you're my Pepper
Stay beside me and life will be better
Yes, I can't lift that Thor's hammer
But I'll fight for you like Steve Rogers
I don't have any Super Power
But I'll keep you safe from danger
I'll watch you from shadows like Nightcrawler
To observe if you're secured anytime anywhere
I'm not Superman, Batman, and Spiderman
But you know what, man?
I'll be here for you if there's no one
Cause all I want is to be your man
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 2:57 AM UTC
Bits of twisted red metal
And puppet fur fall to the ground
“Ha Mister Rogers
can you keep your face now?”
Mister Rogers looked up
in a sort of watery grin
“Try as you might
I will still be your friend.”
“Ah, but can’t you see those
Of whom you adore?
They are lying right there,
Right there on the floor.”
Henrietta the cat, and
dear Trolley I see,
but they are just children’s toys
sad though it may be.”
Hannibal’s smile was a
little too toothy
“Wake up Rogers, my friend
Can’t you see that you’ve lost?”
“my dear neighbor, my friend
Life is not a game of puzzles and costs.”
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 7:21 PM UTC
They thought she'd be Sassy,
You'll read she's no Lassie;
So they chose an Isle,
For kin and kith,
Meaning more than breadth and width;
Henceforth she's called Skye.
She's a dimunitive terrier,
She'll not be a harrier;
She'd fall down the holes
Chasing rabbits and voles,
And never be heard of again.
Too quiet for a guard dog,
In the pack, she's no lead dog;
If she tried herding sheep,
They'd bleat in their sleep,
And the sheep would lay down
For the wolves.
She's no sledder like Buck,
She can't carry a duck,
And certainly no fighter like Fang.
She's no Rin Tin Tin,
Can't run fast like him,
And she's not sleek like Roy Rogers' Bullet.
She won't find a body
Buried under the snow,
And she won't win blue ribbons
At any dog show.
But I'm convinced
By her snuffles
She's well worth the trouuble,
I'll take her out hunting
In the woods
For my truffles.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
Bigger that Xucha 🚀✨
Jojo Siwa 👩🎤✨
Tatiana, and Mr. Rogers 🎶✨
She creates her own legend 📓✨
Building children up 👶✨
Educating 🍎✨
People of all kinds of genres 📚✨
Turning all their pages 📖✨
Until she finds the current plot ⏰✨
Ready with her pen ✍️✨
To help them connect the dots \/\/\|\🖊
To view the bigger and smaller picture 🖼
With lots of love 💖✨
And pleasant thoughts 🌈✨
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 1:48 PM UTC
You stopped outside
this shop window
on the New Kent Road
and peered in
there were lots
of merchandise
with labels saying
To Clear on them
and you saw
this stamp album
with a packet
of stamps attached
for 1/6d
so you went in
and asked the old guy
behind the counter
for the stamp album
and stamps
and he reached in
the window
and took it out
and you gave him
the 1/6d
and he handed you
the album
and he said
ain't you the kid
who came in here
last week
and bought
the cap gun and holster?
yes I am
you said
why?
you must have
diverse tastes kid
he said
guess so
you said
and walked out
into the street
where Helen
was waiting for you
what did you buy?
she asked
a stamp album
and stamps
you replied
you showed her
what you'd bought
you don't look like
the kind of kid
who'd buy
a stamp album
or who
collected stamps
she said
what's a kid
who collects stamps
look like?
you asked
she looked at you
her head
slightly
to one side
I don't know
someone with glasses
with black plastered
down hair
with a posh voice
she said
you gazed at her
standing there
in her red
and yellow
flowered dress
and brown hair
in tied bunches
and her thick
lens glasses
you wear glasses
you said
you don't
collect stamps
but I'm not a boy
she said
only boys collect stamps
you shook your head
and smiled
anyway lets go
to my house
and drop theses off
and go to the park
and have fun
you said
ok
she said
and you walked with her
to your home
you with your stamp album
and stamps
and she with her
battered doll Betty
in her right hand
swinging it along
and you humming
some Roy Rogers
cowboy song.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC