"rubix" poems
Lone star walking roads,
crowbar in hand
cowgirl I'll die for,
I died and I died again,
fluent in 6 country's,
passports; pardons
no cargo,
but luggage is a stainless steel flask,
half full,
half way,
to the moon
if you asked me?
Cadillacs in space,
expensive taste
that's masked with
— the cheap stuff,
inspired souls,
they walk,
and this forsaken path,
they'll never make hell a ***** deed or two from heaven,
counterparts
we're equals,
we're lost
they're my colleagues,
a scandal from remembrance,
remember we followed rules?
no response
****
there's a shift
in the rubix cube,
a memo from the warden,
no weapons in the visit room,
coordinating sin,
a taste of gin
before the see you soons,
world was much warm before stone replaced the sand dunes,
scoff at the elixir,
cordially
she casts stones,
******* of a demon crossing ponds is all the child knows,
tales of the fishermen,
who heard it through the corridors,
all and all departed,
with a fear of the other gods,
strictly prohibited,
a swig of the forbidden fruit,
who are you to judge me,
When Your Son Is Not Of Holy Proof!
wedded to a mortal said your honor,
absent i do's,
abstinence is bliss
and your crime ascends civilian law,
guilty -- you're filthy,
your son will never know your soul,
I know my role and play it well,
Your god never admits he's wrong,
so why would I?
— a baby cried,
I'm present for my son's birth,
and leave before an open eye the practice of a perfect curse.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
a rubix cube upon my desk
with half the colors matching
near a wayward garden gnome
what plots might he be hatching
contemplations fill my head
of life and all its meanings
a conservative at heart
despite my leftist leanings
someday I’ll find the leprechaun
hiding at the rainbow’s end
I’ll take that ******** lucky charms
before he runs again
memories haunt my waking mind
not sure if they're even real
vertigo and déjà vu are all that I can feel
I think I’ll take another hit
that should finally stop the spinning
as my pet rock races Charlie Brown
the rubix cube is winning
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 7:06 PM UTC
64 hours passed by in a flash, sister
are you tryin' to sing and ****** me?
my hebrew sillables are all-black as bmf
sunset over wondaland, the magic city
residing at excelsior hotel, flowerfull mouth
french rap intro playin' me like harimah
sending me nudes from dubai to wondaland
shaped like a statue, willing, please, pleasure
booked dat ticket, let's go for it, babe
harima is on her way, in the meantime this cleaning lady is flirtatious like crazy, yeeeah her colleague a.k.a. boyfriend ain't working
last night, she gave me an intense glimpse
and her dude was in the same room, yup
so it's time for punishment, seldom signs
alrighty, passing babylon-thru, thruuuuhhh
wondaland keeps me trapped, i can't leave
you gonna see #trance24/7 on most walls
fiends dwell on pathways or they begging
beatdowns, runners, packs, rubix cubies
but on a hill, there is a house and in this
house, there are gangstapoetz, hihaho
in an iris, you might spot our place
simply take note of the... reflections
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 10:53 PM UTC
This one’s for the smart kids.
This one is for the honor students, and the straight A students
This is for the kids who stay up half the night studying, and the kids who work their ***** off for their grades
This is for the kids who can define and spell Antidisestablishmentarianism or tell you what DNA stands for (it’s deoxyribonucleic acid by the way)
This is for the teachers pets, the geeks, and the nerds. And the student who skips parties so she can study for her test.
This is for the kids who can solve complex mathematic equations in their head
This is for the kids who know that you don’t use “I” in a formal essay, and that okay is spelled O-K-A-Y, not O-K.
This is for the kids who can recite pi up to 200 hundred places, and the ones who can solve a rubix cube in 2 minutes flat.
The ones who take two language classes, and the ones who have been saving for college since they were born.
Geniuses of the 21st century, this is for you.
I would give you a gold star and a check plus for what you’ve done, but I’m sure you have gotten plenty of those. So I think I will just tell you something that only we could understand; Superb job at pursuing your academic careers with such ambitious outlooks on the world, and for having such admirable self-motivation.
I know that sometimes it ***** to be academically inclined, but in 5, 10, 20 years you will be working in some law firm or doing something you love and making multiple figures while the kids who blow off their school life will be stuck working for minimum wage at McDonalds or as a waitress for the rest of their lives.
So keep writing essays and doing extra credit because it’s not enough to survive high school, you have to thrive, and reach for the metaphorical stars.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
I'm looking for a hailstorm to run blindfolded through
For the sake of refief
A psychosomatic firing squad to save me
from this six by three square feet of dirt
that you have left me
I now drag behind myself
I have taken this earth
and sculpted it in your likeness
I am Pygmalion praying to the moon for love
but instead I get rain
and as the picture of Her and perfect summers
falls apart like mud through my finger
I clasp and grasp and gasp
and when the rain stops
I am left on my knees in the mud praying with open hands
my skin is baptized so clean my scars shine
Now as the pieces of a heart are returned to us
twisted and unwanted and rearranged like a Rubix cube
by the hands of past lovers
who we knew too fast and promised so much
but didn't care enough
to figure out our combinations
or to hold the secrets contained or the dreams cradled
in this human-sized box
I guess no one thought to tell them
that if you plan to be a past lover
return what you have found just as you have found it
and walk backwards
that the image of you walking away from me may not haunt me in the mornings
and I can make believe you are returning to me at night
but even the stars rearrange themselves
destiny can be rewritten
let what remains of my days be it's pages
in an infinite number of realities I am still happy with you
in an infinite number of realities I am tragic without you
but in this reality I may be happy without you
I'm kicking open my wardrobe and cleaning it out of all the shadows
I'm putting on a new jacket, a new hat
but I'm keeping my old shoes
for I will not forsake the path
all the roads that once only led to you now lead from you
thank you for the detour
I'm looking for new hands to run through forests with
new arms in which to build a home in
a girl to jump on bed sheets with
and a shoe box in an attic to bury you in
For this heart will grow and one day I will see
through an unbroken stained-glass window
you were just another piece of me
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
there are times
when the thoughts
float through my head,
of you,
and I picture your face as it glows
but from a place of distance
---like it wasn't
less
than
a
week
ago
that we ended almost 4 years of love in close proximity
--- instead,
it's been 6 months,
and with some distance on the pain,
rationality has processed all aspects of the break
and twisted the Rubix cube of my life back into its
solid reds, blues, greens, and yellows.
however,
as my concentration slips in the early evening,
this distance is replaced with what feels like a soft,
slow-motion punch
---not just to the gut,
but through the gut,
twisting my intestines into knots of withdrawal,
my eyes drooping from
AlErT
to
"why does it feel like I've had a death in the family?"
it's like clockwork;
I have a window to work with
each and every morning,
but by 4 PM if I'm caught mid......
-sentence..... in my....
textbook.....
"A History of the Modern Middle East",
my stomach dropping
like
global oil prices
in the 1960's
under the tutelage
of the
Saudi King
Faysal,
every word I read bounces off my irises
like they were tennis *****
and I'm playing squash with the pages.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
Verbosity
A patchwork quilt that I roll roll up in
Stitched with syllables
Like a little phonetic sausage
So deep inside you can't hear me go
Dur dur dur.
(insert self-deprecating quip about being a wiener)
laughing track
But it's cozy and neat.
And if you do
I'll rubix cube your dearest mind
Til I'm tucked deep inside once again.
And I'll softly pontificate about the genetic code
and how it made your irises not quite hazel
But still able to illuminate spontaneously
teal, laurel, cyan, the sea
And if you'll pardon my hyperboles
They draw me strong as an Atlantic tide
This ocean that ***** me the deepest inside
Aesthetically, the contrast is startling to your skin
An artist would capture the portrait therein
But really, all you need to know
Is they're the prettiest
prettiest ******* eyes
I've ever seen.
And I'm sorry
That when I get nervous
My heart is a little effervescent
My words become too efflorescent
(I seek not to strangle you with King's English Shrubberies!)
As you stand before me, incandescent
My dread is that you're
Evanescent.
...
But that thing about your eyes.
All you need to know.
That thing about your eyes,
Not to mince words
But I think
I'll feel that way always.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 8:27 PM UTC
i've become like a rubix cube
i am placed in the cupboard
to be taken out on occasion
and put in a disarray
twisted
turned
confused
just to be put back
only after being caused more
damage
after once again being
re-accommodated
to the lonely cupboard
someone else
with obvious time to pass
clasps their hands on me
only to expenditure
their fancied time on me
but once again
being returned into the loneliness
of the cupboard
waiting for the day
when someone else finds me
dusts me off
and returns me
to my initial state of orderliness
colour co-ordinated
and whole
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 5:55 AM UTC
your hands
tediously twist
and pull
the rubix cube
not to impress
others
with your
speed of completion
but for your own
satisfaction
it will sit on your side table
for years
the mountain
you will never climb
before
your older brother
gave it to you
he rearranged
the stickers
an impossible puzzle
his prank
forgotten by him
amongst hundreds of others
your arms
scrub painstakingly
to wash away the
dark stain
on your
kitchen floor
which never fails
to catch your gaze
it has become
your routine
to spend an hour
every Sunday
cleaning
the persistent spot
curse it's existence
imagine life
without it
even though
it has become
a safety net for you
the only thing
you can count on
being there for you
when you arrive home
still,
your efforts
never cease
you will never discover
it was a fault
of the painters
a careless flaw
ignored
as they completed
the top coat
it does not matter
how much I try
to heal this
loneliness
or how many
different ways
I try to fill my
emptiness-
it is a bottomless
hole
swallows
everything thrown in
the hunger
is never satisfied
I do not think
it will ever
be full
do not think
I am able to feel whole
but
that doesn't stop me
from trying
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
From a single supernova explosion.
We are stardust.
I am stardust.
Stardust that has become self aware
And learned to question oneself.
Blood, flesh, bones, cells, arteries, veins, brains,
A product of God,
Or the product of a funny little happenstance?
The same as everyone else.
But I like to think I’m different.
Personality?
A conundrum,
Paradox,
Silent,
Stone,
Made of stone,
That is what they tell me I am.
Lost in a garden of graves
I reach for the light
But retreat back into the shadows
When it reaches back.
Speaking in sweet solitude
My heart lies with green
But my body is draped in black.
Quiet, a mystery,
An ignored enigma
Wrapped in Bowie’s melody.
Life in slow motion,
Seen on tattered film reels.
Long nights of insomnia,
Driven by an attraction to the monsters,
Let’s forget my past,
Let’s forget my name,
Let’s forget I’m a coward.
Long hours
With shaking hands
Trying to write a happy poem,
But that simply won’t happen.
That simply won’t happen.
Forgive me for my morbid ways.
Tell us about you,
Tell us the real you,
An assignment to create forced poetry.
Poetry should not be forced,
Poetry should come from the heart,
From my heart does not come my favorite authors, such as Scott Westerfeld,
Nor does my favorite food, sushi, my goals of being a director, or the llama as my favorite animal,
From my heart comes something much darker,
More complex.
I was asked to tell no lies,
And no lies were told.
The truth is all there,
The real me is in plain sight.
It all depends on if you know where to look.
In short, to tell you about me, I am a cube.
I am a rubix cube no one has yet to solve.
(This was a school assignment to write a poem about myself...)
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
They swoon on behalf of the exalted one
Brandishing the sword of the spirit
Deliberately making a racket
Tremolo picking
******* on the man’s marrow
Sitting on a pick nick blanket
Kicking up new ground
You sure have a knack
This is the taste of terror
Remember what you have learned
For now, for when? Forever
Leave no stone unturned
Just wait your turn
A blind recommended private eye
Take into deep consideration
Deliver me from the life of a lemming
Diving off a cliff into a cesspool
Daunted, left helpless in the courtyard
Belated birthday gifts given so thoughtlessly
Nonchalant sarcasm afterward
They shall not speak henceforth
These are the days of madness
The sanity you’ll lose
The colorblind in glasses
Receiving Rubix Cubes
Tell me what’s the use?
Running across the T-ball field
Frightening a legion of geese
A teenage thrill only to realize
My shoes were covered in stool
The banshee so aerodynamic
Its yawp makes my head split
Calling collect just to say
Your virility is too impressionable
We were the living theater
From which your inspiration derived
The kettles of fish and cans of worms we opened
That we cannot deny
We will not lie
We are dead
From the neck up
From the neck up
From the neck up
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like hells bells miss ringers,
Like bringers miss takers,
Like ******* miss fakers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the good fellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
I miss everything.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
Iodine damnation cleanses Alice--rock-and-roll medusa
alone in the field,
she waits for the flies to eat the spider
--the third testament of law
divinely christened as low as $19.95.
Hell is where
Schrodinger throws the bodies. Revived Alice is in a burlap sack
embedded in the cubbyhole
of a mortal anthro-rubix,
the small garnishes that spot livers during cancer.
"Hello and welcome
to the resting place of all Blues songs."
speaks the curbed lips of Gluttony. A name that vomits
up rebellion, like cleansing the glucose off
fish-cleaning tables.
Alice touches her eyes rolls them
--fortunate galleries,
broods deeply on the jaws of her receptors.
"After the last drop, the hard boiled spoil
and the cats won't eat 'em. Neither will I," Gluttony spews, "You all show up
as do I, magnifying the cruelty of digging,
digging,
digging
that follows me and you to the bitter stem
and rough petal--throwing this rose,
that rose,
here and there inside the carcass of lust.
The scalding photograph of a guerrilla war playground
hangs over
the mantle of a prideful garden.
"Pulp wisdom
looking back at the names of thieves/murderers
of simple thought
over-turning scars of fallacy
in that garden.
"Picking,
picking,
picking out the best arrangement
so it doesn't look like I went
through a drive-thru
for what to say. 'Hey.'
'Yes?'
'I love you.'
'You too.'
Something in between
what you, I, and the others were looking for
has uprooted bushes--the tilled chest of my sister
and lover--disarrayed, dirt thrown
to the side.
Fibonacci colors patterned
across the moist earth
to distract you and I, all from the dread, and all
the relief
of ripping apart the white, pink, black, and red."
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
tetris fits in itself like a rubix cube explaining its own correctitude,
only being a distraction of logical aptitude in hiding whats inside of its square.
...russian military scientists thought they had us good..
.....but we had every angle covered... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 8:13 PM UTC
My sanity is a car crash
Wrapped in ticking cellophane
Armed with the threat of cirrus clouds
It threatens rubix avalanches.
Hark, Hear the bells.
Who Awakens?
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
She had as many faces as a rubix cube.
I'm not trying to be cruel,
I just wonder who she really is and if the face she showed me was too an act.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
During our last move we made
sure to pack:
all the paraphernalia, both
toothbrushes, most of our clothes,
old pictures, broken ashtrays,
tools we didn't know how to use,
the computer, both cats, commitments,
all the shot glasses, a bed,
and your unsolved Rubix cube.
It all fit in the car.
We left behind the couch that
one of the cats ****** on,
the shower curtain liner, every
working Bic lighter, your sanity,
the Monopoly game, two new
pens, one old pen (no ink)
and a bag of marshmallows,
plus one hell of a mess.
During the move we misplaced
our sense of direction, a suitcase
full of only my clothes, logic,
and a globe that doubled as a
lamp.
***** given?
Zero.
We still had both cats.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
It's a dark shadow, not knowing how to tug your path through the oceans waves,
It's a blinding sunrise, understanding what you hold internally for all those whom seek the bluest river,
It's a rubix cube of thought, feeling unaware of set solutions like the procrastination of a premeditated checkmate,
Why do these toes enjoy hanging over the cliff?
Why do I taste bitter aspects of living and then bark at them with the snarling grin of of a man less fortunate?
I am who I am supposed to reflect,
The water invites me to wade but I would rather think about the clouds and drift,
Far far away, I dream of white puff with many hunchbacks and a baby's grasp of the finger, warm like a winter's hug,
I am now and forever, yet those are impossible actions to reach out for,
I am faded in my cage and forgotten in my youth, yet she provides me with balance and clarity,
We will die and from death we will count numbers in our slumber, until the curtain bleeds through the white dress, a stain that will linger no more,
We will become our dreams and live on for a soul purpose,
Just Imagine.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
Things come and go.
Like people I suppose.
We play games to pass the time.
Roll dice on gambles.
Take chances with our lives.
Only there is no collecting when coming full circle.
That's called a mistake.
So we jump to other boards.
Hoping we aren't sorry.
Realizing there is no perfection.
Trying to balance every risk.
Like we ever had a clue.
Some try so hard.
While others scoff at effort.
What is the right combo that will lead to the end game.
It's like an ever changing rubix cube.
So many patterns to memorize.
But doing the same thing.
Over.
And over.
Is that living.
Or insanity.
Whatever it's called.
One thing is certain.
We shall never get bored.
Playing with our demons.
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 8:41 PM UTC
I Imagine
I imagined in my recollection,
my friend staring in awe of red clovers -
as the sun let loose ruby drops of blood.
Crying out like tears to be heard.
The dust settles as the orphan stares at the sun with green eyes.
Green eyed jealousy stirs as she stretches to remember what its like to have parents.
All the while I am worlds’ away
Spoiled, yet still stretching out my hands towards substance.
I dare not speak of freedom,
because I have already known of it,
And thrown it away mindlessly.
It even has its paid spot in some alley where it’s
Slowly dissipating alongside nostalgia.
I imagine formulating lines brick upon brick
but chaos conforms to life and the structure goes away.
So, I let my words and thoughts sift beyond my fingertips.
Falling onto new porcelain
Creativity escapes down the drain
along with the dirt wrestling itself off my dry skin.
And finally I imagine skies splitting into oblivion,
and rearranging gradually like a ****** Rubix Cube.
Jul 16, 2011
Jul 16, 2011 at 2:37 PM UTC
He said he's on his way
with a rubix cube,
maybe to diss me with
his concept of love,
while I'd stay a square peg
and yet let him in
as I don't see the man
who came in my dreams.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
Sometimes I think about.
High buildings, moving cars or bridges with beautiful scenery.
I have this saviour complex, an rubix cube lover.
Destructive distractions are a pass time, I have an infatuation with underdogs.
Blowing bubbles, I like to swim against them.
Purgatory is my sanctuary.
Pain is paradise, numb to most.
Inflicting paper cuts for fun.
The caring nature of a broken soul, is a laughable misery.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
My mind can be compared to a rubix cube. It has a patteren yet only a few can solve it. Out of those few comes one person, who doesn’t even have to touch it.
Their eyes and mind work simotanesouly.
Forgetting that I am only human.
They devour my defense system. All the colored squares around me.
They solved me.
You see the pattern. You don’t even have to touch me.
Your eyes do all the work.
Its almost as if you read me like a book.
But for now you are just a myth in my square mind.
My colors haunt the mindless but make you oh so envious.
And all I can do is wait. Wait for those eyes.
That can read me like a book.
And when I find you.
I will be yours.
And you will be mine.
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 6:05 PM UTC