"runner" poems
Gliding deftly along the city street
rolling quick and constantly
onward to some unknown scene,
some backward park in the nighttime
smoke curling from these
parted lips, moist and inviting
calling me somewhere I've never seen.
New day, new night
new feelings, rage in delight
fill me with your hilarious entropy,
knock my quarks into the next century,
will you please?
Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free
between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks
like glue,
wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec
telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected
and rendered obsolete
Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme
Amaterasu,
and Imma tell you
these ladies in the picnic table
buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch
Jesus ******* Christ
and a indelible roster of good guys,
to which we all must strive to live and die
behind,
never moving forward
chasing our tails like a sick dog
under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark
imported from overseas
dead trees
dead canine
and oh isn't it just divine?
You see it, pretty lady.
I can see it hiding behind your eyes
the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid
if they found out,
you'd be crucified.
Well honey I hate to inform,
With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs
aint Methuselah,
they'll be dead!
long before your flood of tears tears me from the land
ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat
of the eastern seaboard,
or maybe wash me deep along the 80
into the desert sands and tiles
on a leaky cell phone screen
desperately trying to dial home on low battery,
realizing all this was one big deferred dream,
baking in the sun and shriveling
oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose,
gotta cut it back to size,
'else your soul it'll outgrow
Don't worry honey bee
It hasn't happened to me,
and We know with calcuable mathematical truth
that it'll never happen to you.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
The artichoke
of delicate heart
*****
in its battle-dress, builds
its minimal cupola;
keeps
stark
in its scallop of
scales.
Around it,
demoniac vegetables
bristle their thicknesses,
devise
tendrils and belfries,
the bulb's agitations;
while under the subsoil
the carrot
sleeps sound in its
rusty mustaches.
Runner and filaments
bleach in the vineyards,
whereon rise the vines.
The sedulous cabbage
arranges its petticoats;
oregano
sweetens a world;
and the artichoke
dulcetly there in a gardenplot,
armed for a skirmish,
goes proud
in its pomegranate
burnishes.
Till, on a day,
each by the other,
the artichoke moves
to its dream
of a market place
in the big willow
hoppers:
a battle formation.
Most warlike
of defilades-
with men
in the market stalls,
white shirts
in the soup-greens,
artichoke field marshals,
close-order conclaves,
commands, detonations,
and voices,
a crashing of crate staves.
And
Maria
come
down
with her hamper
to
make trial
of an artichoke:
she reflects, she examines,
she candles them up to the light like an egg,
never flinching;
she bargains,
she tumbles her prize
in a market bag
among shoes and a
cabbage head,
a bottle
of vinegar; is back
in her kitchen.
The artichoke drowns in a ***
So you have it:
a vegetable, armed,
a profession
(call it an artichoke)
whose end
is millennial.
We taste of that
sweetness,
dismembering scale after scale.
We eat of a halcyon paste:
it is green at the artichoke heart.
16.7k
Judges please welcome
your runner-up for the past 17 years!
She has great talents and abilities!
but you judge her on what YOU want.
YOU want to see a sweet, loving girl.
You want one that can juggle 40 different things.
A girl that everyone loves to be around,
One that will do every little thing you want.
I'm sorry judges,
but you can only find girl that in the toy aisle.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
One must be brave to live through
a day. What remains
is nothing but the pleasure of longing—very precious.
Longing
purifies as does flying, strengthens as does an effort,
it fashions the soul
as work
fashions the belly.
It is like an athlete, like a runner
who will never
stop running. And this
gives him endurance.
Longing
is nourishing for the strong.
It is like a window
on a high tower, through which
blows the wind of strength.
Longing,
Virginity of happiness.
11k
there was a little cheetah he had a dream one day
to run in the olympics in a land so far away
he boarded on a plane and flew across the sea
to a place in russia where the games would be
he went to the track a runner he would be
running in a marathon a sporty cat was he
then the time had come for the cheetahs race
he stood in a line and cheetah took his place
now the race was on cheetah took it slow
took it nice and easy with a steady flow
they ran for quite a while the race was very long
cheetah had a finish that was so very strong
as the finish neared he come to the front
then stepped us his speed like being on a hunt
he went like a train like the speed of light
and flew across the finish line with no one else in sight
his mission it was over and his race one won
he enjoyed his holiday that gave him so much fun
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
THE BABY moon, a canoe, a silver papoose canoe, sails and sails in the Indian west.
A ring of silver foxes, a mist of silver foxes, sit and sit around the Indian moon.
One yellow star for a runner, and rows of blue stars for more runners, keep a line of watchers.
O foxes, baby moon, runners, you are the panel of memory, fire-white writing to-night of the Red Man's dreams.
Who squats, legs crossed and arms folded, matching its look against the moon-face, the star-faces, of the West?
Who are the Mississippi Valley ghosts, of copper foreheads, riding wiry ponies in the night?-no bridles, love-arms on the pony necks, riding in the night a long old trail?
Why do they always come back when the silver foxes sit around the early moon, a silver papoose, in the Indian west?
6.4k
the first drop of water
not ice
from the sky
signals the season’s
change
new england
so pretty
looking angelic
drew me in
a venus fly trap
locked in a prism
snow reflecting
back to me
eerie thoughts
shrouded in black
no place for a runner
where I can escape them
locked in by the fireplace
tattered ashes
mockingly laugh
i flee and i run
minus eight reads the meter
frostbitten
returning
trapped with my thinking
blocked in on all sides
the icy walls
fold in on me
forced to see the reflection
looking back at me
go away brightness
banish your glow
i need the shadows
where hidden feelings
quietly cower
another storm coming
madness engulfs me
searching for pen
grasping at paper
salvation
words spilling out
parts of me
buried so skillfully
long ago
finally see light
just for a moment
the respite’s exquisite
then longing for springtime
oh god,
why can’t it rain?
©2016janetaylor
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
all my life I’ve felt
never
good
enough
she’s skinnier than me
she has better skin
than me
she has prettier hair than me
I’m always second best
first loser
runner up
second thought
this marks the start of my journey
to self acceptance
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Writing for me is simple..
Lyrically ready to maximize my potential..
I have something to say I don't blow hot air like a inner tube...
Tell them liars they need to relax..
I am the type to push it to the max..
Switching gears and lanes until the governor snap ..
I cannot be contain..
Like the green hulk fighting the thing
I wish you could take a walk through my brain..
You would see different things depending on the time of day...
Like dead people, relatives that passed in my memories they live...
Times of my youth when I was a kid...
I didn't smile much.
I was a good kid I didn't wild much...
Pops sold crack so I styled much ...
Gun shots in Baltimore, my pops died once...
In my mind I question a ****
Like are they always ready to ****
Or does life have them Close to the edge..
Of a cliff a jagged hill
And they don't want to die in this dog eat dog world..
So they let blood spill..
I wonder if I was a G would I bang.
Red or blue claim a gang.
Be like Larry Hoover...
A young shooter...
In and out of prison I maneuver
Run the block like a ruler...
Be part of the the trash like manure
Be a coke runner a drug mover..
Corrupting the body of drug users. ..
Would I be known as a survivor
Escaping death more than MacGyver
Embrace the streets as truth knowing that's it a liar...
Nickname my gun human torch cause it fires
I wonder cause honestly I don't have a gun
This poetry is my weapon..
I am only gangsta through my lyrical aggression
Day 1 down...I am up to the challenge.
A poem a day ..to test my talent...
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
Alice was walking
At the back of her yard
when she spotted a gnome
well....standing guard
she knew she was gnomeless
she had a ball and a stone
but there in her garden
was a short, stocky gnome
he knew that she saw him
he tried not to blink
he stopped all his breathing
this'll fool her i think
she walked down the garden
stopped ten feet away
looking close at this person
who was dressed in green gray
she thought, this is crazy
a gnome in my yard
it was then that he moved
and he held out his card
she looked at the writing
it did her no good
it was written in gnomish
and only gnomes understood
the stare off continued
and then she asked loud
who are you, you gnome you
standing so proud
he said, i am biffles
at your service i am
in the back of your garden
here in East Ham
she said, why my garden
what is special to you
about my dear roses
and my runner beans too
he said, that a meeting
of the higher up gnomes
was being held there that night
there were elves and some pixies
and some twenty odd sprite
they were there all around her
though they couldn't be seen
watching her closely
in ten shades of green
well, biffles ...young sir
what is your job while here
you aren't at the meetings
what do you do my dear
i am sargeant at arms
when we're here or at home
i guess you could call me
(wait for it)
yep...i'm a guardin' gnome
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
When the tale of the kite wraps itself around your neck,
And yet continues to fly, freely
You should now know that freedom to one comes at a cost to the other.
But you must wonder, as Jupiter and Zeus watch this storm,
that leaves nothing more than dust in their eyes;
It's funny how kites are a symbol of freedom when they are actually tied to a glass-coated cotton string.
The same cotton, that another boy who looks directly into your eyes could have worn.
It's funny how when one side of the coin is painted in platinum
and the other side struggles to know whether it's still a coin with value as it is being corroded.
Yes, they were one coin. Once.
The tulip blooms fade before the foliage dies,
every flower that dies is not reborn
But on the land it does, is.
When the flower is no more,
the green stem still remains.
But did the flower die from the wasp
that stung its nectar and perhaps even the pollen
or did it die from the feet that stepped upon
because they were inside the duststorm that disallows them to look at the ground.
Do all flowers that die are reborn?
How many flowers can one wasp even sting?
How many times can you stomp over one flower until it has no petals but only your footprints?
As you wonder,
The tail of the kite has been detached from its throne,
You look, as you wonder, if this is freedom or that was.
And another Hassan chases it yet again.
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 3:16 PM UTC
It was
terror in its
physicality. Raining
the horrifying needles
of death. Breaking away at peace
and calm, eating away at life.Plaguing
the living by burning away at sanity. Enslaving
the innocent like zombies. Will someone make a sacrifice
for the world?
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
Dear Ice Cream
Why do you always trick me
I buy and eat you
But you tempt me, and I eat all of you
Then I have none left
But I want ice cream so much
I also want to be a runner
I want to be a swimmer
I want to be an athlete.
But I continue to eat you
Again
And again
And again.
What the heck.
I can be an athlete and still eat you
I shall be an ice cream eating
Race winning champion
Thanks to you.
-Connor G.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
i've spent my entire lifetime running
running away
running in circles
running myself into the ground
it isn't fun, anymore
my feet have gotten heavy
i remember that night you drove **** near 100 miles
so we could go to the park and play lava-monster
i didn't know the rules
you were patient
there
in the decaying fall air
with your news-boy cap pulled down over my eyes and my arms stretched out into the darkness
searching for you
i felt right
for the first time in my life i felt fine
i haven't feld good, since
i wish i knew then what i know now
that i may likely never see you again
that you were leaving
that you're a runner too
i guess it is true
you get what you give
my feet have become granite
stones not meant to be resurrected from the earth
my globe's nothing but a paper-weight, now
the atlas is never cracked
because i can't find you on a map
and your arms are the one place that i long to be
silly, really
the way the head and the heart are incapable of speaking to each other honestly
now and then
the wind rests
for just a moment
and through the dry wyoming air
i catch your scent trail
like a glimpse of heat-lightning in the far horizon
but just like you
it's gone in an off-set heartbeat
the tumble weeds sing your name as they slink across the plains
stirring my insomnia into a craze
that can only be calmed by night-sky air
i search for your face in the shadows of the moon
as my calls to you rise with my steam-heated breath
and disappear into the stars
i wonder if you lay awake all night
swearing that the constellations are all begining to align
with the sole purpose of pointing you towards me
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Taking control of life
that is meant to be mine
a life full of happiness and joy
but caught in the middle of a raging war.
Years of fighting has taken its toll
as I sit and watch my life
fight with every tool and nail,
a glimmer of hope surfaces
a little bundle of joy
kicking and screaming
ready to take its place.
For too many years,
I watched as life tossed me
here and there,
up and down.
It is all a game,
I told myself
one minute I would seem to be a winner,
and the next finish as the runner-up.
But a life without a reason
now has a meaning
a battle without a plan
now has a purpose,
to live and fight another day.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
A tale of adventure, A tale of strife.
A tale of wisdom, a tale of life.
In the streets of afghan, a quick learner
Enchanted by the kite runner.
A tale of loss, a tale of gain.
A tale of horror, a tale of pain.
With strife and hurt, all bestowed.
And, the mountains echoed.
As sorrow seeps,
Mariam weeps
A tale of hurt,
Out to blurt.
With arrows, bombs, axe and guns
Burnt with a thousand splendid suns.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
It seems I can only run so fast
From these demons intent on chasing me.
Only these demons have human faces,
And they do stupid human things
My screams do not deter them
My cries go unnoticed
And I'm not a strong runner.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
Swirling a frosty straw
Stuck up like a victory flag in winter ground
With my lips wrapped around it
I stare into this empty canvas
of a vanilla malt
And project my cartoonish headaches
into it to devour it
Oh those Scooby Doo monsters
Shadows that lurk to cut my Tom & Jerry humor
Only to formulate semblances of evil
A Mojo JoJo caricature
I then project into my milkshake
His smirk haunts the smile of Tweety Bird
In my Hanna-Barbara mindfield
Colorful spirals of animated joys
Let me know slurp Elmer Fudd shotgun
That was mugging my creativity
And robbed me of my motive
Let me taste the refreshing winds
That flow through the deserts of Road Runner
Taking laps around my heart
With its true intentions in a love letter
I will never get
Soon slurped and eaten to take away the thoughts
And now I hope I can drink another
To rip out the rest of the pain that in my heart
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
I'm a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
A sock monkey clown
I am a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
I'm taking over your town
I got a lot of ideas
A lot of sock monkey ideas
I sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
Gonna go to college
I am a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
Gonna go to college
Gonna go to college
Gonna get an education
Get an education
Gonna take over your sock monkey town
I got a lot of ideas
I am a sock monkey
I'm gonna rule
I got a lot of ideas
I am a sock monkey
I'm gonna rule
I'm gonna rule
I'm gonna drive drunk sock monkey
I'm gonna drive drunk sock monkey
I'm gonna **** I'm gonna ****
I'm gonna blame it on the walker baby
I'm gonna blame it on the runner
He shouldn't have been in front of me
That's what I'll tell the judge
Let's rent a limo sock monkey
Let's celebrate now, sock monkey
Maybe make a date
I am a sock monkey
Give me all of your five dollars
I am a sock monkey
I am a sock monkey
I live in L. A.
I am a sock monkey
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
“Top of the Morning to ‘Yuh, Guv’nuh.”
Oh, to be father of a
Cockney flower girl,
To be Eliza Doolittle’s
Dear old Dad,
Alfred P. of that surname.
Oh, to be a cockney dustman,
On this fine day,
Another fine day in
Northern New Mexico, as I
Sell my daughter to
‘Enery Iggins, or
Some equivalent
Princeton poofter.
I am Rhett Butler,
Daring blockade-runner,
Persona –non-grata
For any decent
Family—including my own,
Charleston Carolina.
In time, I crave
Social acceptance for
Bonnie Blue—my ill fated
Would-be equestrian offspring;
I surrender my daughter to the
Upper Class.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
life is a marathon
it isn't easy
it isn't graceful
it isn't pretty
times will come which are so dark
even the sunniest of days feels cold
evil men sow their sins from the shadows
and it stops you in your tracks
like hitting a runner's wall
breathless stinging lungs
scream out against the lack of oxygen
like silent voices mourning a waking nightmare
but even from under the umbra
we might find something
worth redeeming
a helping hand offering us some much needed hydration
or friendly words of encouragement from strangers
life is a marathon
and we can't allow the runner's wall
to stop us from moving forward
for the sakes of our brothers and sisters
who didn't get their fair chance
to cross the finish line
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
A llama mama who is ever so special
A swimmer glides through the water with so much grace
Artistically inclines, genius by birth; slacker by choice
Music.Lit.Bio.Lovely girl whom I very much admire
Strong girl who makes use of every opportunity
Another swimmer with heart and face so lovely
An elephant - the light o' every lil' chat
Candy- words so wise; heart so warm
Another brave girl; lots in common; in every way beautiful
Eloquent speaker And A Violinist
Another swimmer with such a laugh!
Our dear walking dictionary; never fails to put a smile on my face
Runner and fighter ALL THE WAY
Vettypoop aka my spirit animal
Smiling dolphin
Laughing cheerful pop ****
Artyfarty girl with so much poise and grace
Artyfarty and a swimmer? Ooh la la
Cute and sweet and everything else with a tinge of the kpop
Disciplinarian and nice
1Der with a twinned soul
A cutie pie with a such a heart
Strange girl this one is but I love the way she talks and writes.
Strange laughter and even stranger words you say
Motherly touches
My lovely leader, with such a beautiful core
Craycray, stay craycray bubu
Smiler and such a high toned shriek
You my bestie; my listening ear
Ordinary Me
Meangirl99 at first sight, lovelygirl99 at the second
KimChi such a hard-worker
Another hard worker with a positive glow
A dancer on a note of sarcasm
Heart of gold; Mind of snow
Naughty naughty
so this is my class of 36
every girl
a wonderful light
and this 36 beautiful souls
make up the beautiful beautiful class
of
203
With varying teachers and varying situations,
we have stood by each other
With much faith I have in all of you
Let's soar to the skies
Pull each other
to soar
and
soar
and soar
to heights never known
never reached.
I know we are going to make
2013
our year
203's year to
amaze people like never before.
Prove every teacher we are the awesomest class on earth.
Trust me.
We will.
Every strength and weakness binded together;
203 is going to
ROCK THE HOUSE TONIGHT! :)
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
Everyone has his or her sport.
I run. I run like there’s
No tomorrow. You can call me
A cross-country runner.
Literally.
I’m quite gifted
At running—from East coast
To West—away from my
Problems.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
I am the quill that marks
The water-walled history
Of the sea as it may -
A swan, be it, or a black-backed
Gull.
I am the pariah who
Failed to posit his load on
A hill that hung low, like a
Sunless moon, but who can still
hark the dark
Rumbling of repetition.
I am the Quixote who took
On the wind who made the mill
Sob like a bronze leaf in grief,
Seared by the passage of
A sluggish summer.
I am the pariah, the
Quixote, and the historian
Of the rainbow runner.
©LazharBouazzi, August 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC
Heart of mine
you ache
****** truth-teller
be silent.
As I lie here
alone
with my spirit flailing wildly
normalcy and whatshouldbe
hold a pillow
and smother its breath.
**** opressors
they are everywhere
they're in marriage
and picketfence
but some cellular drive
made me leave you for them.
I want you
so physically
and cry out in pain
as my heart begs and pleads
for the one that it loves.
I need you
you know me
my mirrortwin, completely
Never have I been so naked
as I am beneath your gaze
I look into a liquid reflection
that adores me,
ether,
bone.
I have simple words only now
they squeeze out of me
bloodied bullets
I wince as I extract them
my gutless runner's high of a promise of security
wears off now
and I notice and I notice
and I notice
the pistol lying comfortably in my own hand.
Oh! my love!
I feel I'm dying.
You were beauty......
On the wind now
the warm, bitter wind
you are gone.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC