"rushmore" poems
We live in a time of uncertainty
No jobs
Climate change
Mass killings
warnings of pandemics
Where is our utopia
where is our heaven on Earth
1900's we had
San Fransisco's earthquake
McKinley was assassinated
First Nobel prize
The Tunguska Event
nothing as changed in my eyes
1910's we had
Spanish flu
The sinking of the unsinkable ship, the Titanic
and World War 1
What else is needed to say about this decade
nothing changed as the human race lived on
1920's we had
Discovery of penicillin
The great depression
and prohibition
1930's we had
Bonnie and Clyde
Hindenburg disaster
Discovery of Pluto
Al Capone imprisoned
1940's we had
World War 2
Mount Rushmore completed
Big bang theory formulated
Israel founded
Nothing changed but who knew
1950's we had
Castro becomes Dictator of Cuba
Laika the dog goes into space
Korean War began
History never changed and neither will the Human Race
1960's we had
The rise of the Berlin wall
First man on the moon
Vietnam War
Nothing changed and won't any time soon
1970's we had
First test tube baby
Tangshan Earthquake
Kent state shootings
Elvis died
1980's we had
Chernobyl
Tiananmen square massacre
Exxon oil spill
Nothing changed and never will
1990's we had
Oklahoma city bombing
Princess Diana died
Columbine massacre
World Trade Center bombed
End of the Cold War
2000's we had
Hurricane Katrina
Pluto reclassified
Obama elected
September 11th
2010's we had
Haiti Earthquake
Japan Earthquake
Bin Laden killed
BP oil spill
England riots
Brazil riots
China banned time travel.
We're only 4 years in.
**** sapiens are nearly 200,000 years old
nothing changed
and never will
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
I'll scale the hairs of Lincoln's beard,
Leap to the bridge of Roosevelt's nose,
Balance on Jefferson's brow,
Then plead on Washington's pate:
*America, stop ******* up.
I'm slipping on the eyes
Of this granite outcrop*!
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for sweet peas.
And whose skin could be misplaced for dogwood.
Tongue as innocent as the boy that cried wolf,
And eyes as golden as yore.
You knew of that girl, count every school day,
Where she walked through the door, head bowed and heart prayed.
'neath those bangs, whose color is as dark as our breaths, and as shiny as false tree,
Whose eyes--exotic--bluer--bluer than a thumbtack and bluebells set out by sea.
Whose eyes are mismatched by plentiful lips--small as the silver spec on my shoe,
And shimmered 'neath sterile light, as if she kissed the face of Mt. Rushmore, too.
With those high lips and V-line chin, which connected with her pencil neck to her petite body,
No ******* or bottom, with legs as thin as stilts and as blinding as our phones,
She holds the body of a cradle, and sings like a tongue-less canary.
Always kempt and proper--her hair tied back with a lovely noose.
And shoes worry not of dirt--for she never played outside.
Resting 'neath maple-wood trees like a bunny--face and knees tucked by arms, and that's where they reside.
Many boys had asked for her hand in play, but that bunny went deeper--deeper into the flesh hole she burrowed.
"Painfully shy, she was." They said.
And that pain was her devil.
For you knew not the cause of those florid, pink, cheeks.
Whose purpose means nothing but dead machines.
Whose eyes rung bright--struck the world alight,
Yet, they themselves could not see.
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for vintage bust,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bile.
Whose eyes mistaken for lust,
And face mistaken for tile.
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for heat,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bleach.
For again and again and again, the belt beats.
And hello to endless ******
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Blue waters and purple veins clash--wash again and again 'gainst land--and befit the word: queer.
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Innocence knows no bounds and eyes no longer see flavor,
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Exotic eyes bled--rained--pink--and pink--and pink with grand fervor...!
For sometimes it may frighten you to know,
Not all persons are truly healthy,
even those who you hold truly dear.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Who knew they would be so trendy
in today's era of the ".com"
As commanders in chief in a modern war
declaring their weapon in silent unison, "Photobomb"
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
BOY #1
his eyes were as blue
as the deepest sea
his touch
exciting
his voice
as beautiful as Beethoven's symphony 5
the things he said could make any girl
believe that he loved them
only thing is
he didn't give a ******* ****
about me
BOY #2
his hair was as puffy and soft
as a baby bunny's fur
his words touched me in ways
only hands should be able to
his lips fixed wounds I thought
only doctors can fix
a moment with him was never dull
the stories he told me made
me want him more
"i had to jump the wooden gate
the cops were after me"
I couldn't help but smile
I gave you me
and you gave me you
but did you give yourself
to me like how I gave myself
to you
BOY #3
the height of Mt Rushmore
the style of Skateboarder's new model
your jokes were funny
but the way you treated me
after you got what you wanted wasn't
we laid in your bed and you held my hand
I rested my head on your shoulders
I trusted you
but I wasn't anything important to you
BOY #4
skin
dark as night
innocence
like a child
you were different
I wasn't attracted to you
but you liked me
so I let you give yourself to me
and before I knew it
you told your mama I was "a mistake"
we were the talk of the school
BOY #5
his hair was as puffy and soft
as a baby bunny's fur
his words touched me in ways
only hands should be able to
his lips fixed wounds
I thought only doctors can fix
and by now you would assume I
would've learned already
but this boy like no other
this boy excites me
I cant help but want his attention
****** allure maybe
whatever it is
I need him
(not done)
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
He comes, she goes, no one every really sticks around much.
It rains, the sun bares its face, the clouds come back to steal it’s thunder.
Nothing is ever set in stone
Well, except for maybe human bones and Founding Fathers.
This is a poem I quickly threw together after I heard the line “Since when did my apartment become your watering hole of choice?” —Dan Humphery, Gossip Girl, S2:E22, 21:45-21:40. The last two lines are a play on Mount Rushmore and the setting, Founding Fathers, a bar that often appears in the hit TV Drama, Bones. In the show, Dr. Temperance Brennan, Agent Booth, and their friends often meet at FF for drinks after work. The poem is basically saying, “Nothing is certain, except alcohol and my favorite watering hole.”
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 5:45 AM UTC
a thousand miles we traveled to see
your jack-hammered giants--we arrived at dusk
just as the torrents began, bathing your
chiseled countenances
we hid in our chariot of modernity
wipers flapping in syncopated time, Bluetooth belching
out words from kin, "have a good time,"
"sorry for the storm..."
but I wasn't, for lightning struck
a blackjack pine, and four mammoth men
came to life, their sheen now electric, their long
mute voices once again a resounding roar
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
Grand old mountain,
Bearded in cloud . . .
Rushmore to the Gods.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
hard to play the idiot; likened to Mr. Bean
taking the role from
Angus Daily into a Blackadder
hurrah who? ha, ha, ha!
my eyes never
left me baffled - or washington prone:
*** to a stirrup - furthermore,
or Rushmore:
Atilla with an entourage
worthy of Genghis: of prone gravitas -
i too santa's little helper
and sinatra's
five p.m. flamingo strut's
worth of martini -
when said slavic eye then lessened
germanic white-boy fisheyed to boot...
i mean less binocular and more concentrate...
but
there's me as a fifth of Nevada in Siberia
that's always the: **** we sold Alaska!
Nicolai! oh Nicolai! Alaska! **** or
of what was the Crimea, of what is the Kremlin:
k, c, k, c, s, c, k, c, k, c, Vlad, s, t, u, v, k, c, s,
Rasputin, k, c, k, c, Boney M....
i'm still fidgety about the third ethnicity in
europe... i have to gather them attune to being
southern slav, or pseudo-turkish,
Finns, Latvians and Greeks... sounds like
falafel: all guidance to the subsequent reprimands
of necessarily tongue-tied whiplash -
gravitas with the kink and jeopardy of a gimp
fetish on the loose.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
~~<♢>~~
i wrote a poem
in a book
and left it in the rain
a masterpiece
to say the least
now nothing but a stain
i crossed the
Himalayas
went to the farthest shore
wrote by hand
upon the sand
it's not there anymore
i found a piece of granite
of Mt Rushmore size
broke 2 hammers
and a chisel
carving only lies
o'r the years i prized it
thought it was just grand
but with the wind
erosion
will turn it into sand
*but there is a tablet
that's been there from the start
don't find it odd
i write of God
He's written on my
HEART!*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 8/15/2016
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 12:56 AM UTC
Deep purple rainbows ground
Through my isolation
Their road-show resonating
And shaking my status quo haven
Singing rivals' swan song
Building a Rushmore-strong
More resilient rock song
Taking me on to the next page
As I was swept along
And came of age
Relishing my discovery
Of a wider stage
With so much more
Than three-cord monotony.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
Hurrying...pacing fast the time...
Can you hear my beats..its so **** loud!
What my time would be of value..
Standing on the mount of death....
****** **** me...beat me with a cane!
Do something, just don't leave me insane!
Cops crowding my doorway to listen to some ****
Nothing, just those insominate fools!
I have also been through dark alleys
And the dead bodies have also been carried..
But have i cut my neck and fed it to the birds?
Trust me, this world is an opportunity not a curse!
Maybe you'll not be in a mt. Rushmore head
But yes...you'll get 10% of it...
To make your parents proud
With sweat and blood they cried out loud!
Just not to see you in the mount of death....
Just take a step ahed.......black.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
I want my chance.
I wanted to bask in the sunlight with nothing but your company; I do not seek any more than your being.
I want you to see me shine, to thrive in my comfort zone, and soar outside of it; I want to quit the chit chat, I despise small talk.
I love long walks, and you would have never even known.
I don’t want to be looked right through, like my glasses reflect you and your choices and our voices fade into our own minds and neither one of us can conjure up a way to unwind and speak of our passions, our inspirations, our fears, and not just simple the weather.
Could it really hurt to test the waters? I am sick of questioning myself; am I trying to hard? Just give me a way to measure the depth of your interest, have we sparked a match, or do see me as this cesspool of unwarranted emotions and insecurities? Because I look at you and see so many purities, but I see the uncertainty as well. Yet, I still can’t get a read on what it is behind your shell.
Show me bits and pieces of yourself, and I swear I am willing to try and piece it together, but you’re giving me nothing but pieces of alternating puzzles - yeah, I have put together an entire cloud, but this, over here, looks like the ocean and this, this is definitely part of Mount Rushmore, and I’ve no ******* clue as to where any of those pieces connect.
I don’t know why I set myself up for such failure. I want to know you, but the mystery is your primary allure. I want to know what is beneath your trademarks, the dark parts of your eyes, your evident demise, but at the same time, I am terrified. I don’t think it could shock me, I can work with outrageous. But, I don’t think I could handle finding out you were mundane; a bourgeois creature.
Alas, I am stuck in this loop, of wanting all of you, but at the same time, none of you. Tell me, how does one keep a mysterious persona?
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
Down,
down at the bottom
of that pit less
***** you call
your stomach
you all have
taken
or
thought
about the mere fact
that there's
one thing
in the soulless
trench whom we've
named Earth
which controls our
"meaningless lives."
*A piece of ******* paper.*
That kind of off-forest green,
torn up, and passed around
slice of priceless paper.
A tree in the form of a
rectangle shocks our eyes
with ****** vengeful*
appeal every single day
of our withering lives.
Could it be the
face that we've
memorized off of
Mount Rushmore
that makes us
believe for even a second
that our taste could possibly
be a bit more
lavish.
**A piece of ******* paper.**
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
It could be in your dreams.
It could be within the car.
When the mood attacks.
Just look out for the cabs.
It could be in the park.
It could be in the den.
When the mood attacks.
You'll be adventurous.
You awake up with that message of wants.
And that need to be fulfill.
When the mood comes on.
It's better too.
When partner is turned on.
Phones goes ringing.
Doors goes unanswered when you hear knocking.
Even when the cars are parked out side.
Unless someone has a key.
Then they ruin everything.
In the mood for love makes you know you're in for exploring.
You'll be like a climber trying to reach Mount Rushmore.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 10:11 AM UTC
and i'm the dumb one that said
you weren't dumb
and you were the intelligent
one that said hello,
may as well enjoy the rocky
mountains with mt. rushmore
shave; to keep it all under wraps
of a hollywood movie that
never made it from scripts.
yeah you asked to be treated as dumb,
and i asked to be treated as a wizard,
evidently both of us became middle class
debates on parenting:
white man's neck muscles became
black girl's hypnotic celluloid hip arsenal,
and i faked a combo of each in comparison:
while rolling a wine barrel
up a steep hill for a laughing horse
in exchange for three magic kidneys
that were categorised
as baked bean & ****** oh lawd the giant
came from the heights,
with the magic goose ******** out golden
swastikas rather than eggs of date printed 1933,
holocaust unknown khaki shirts prior the schwarzhemd
recycled for marble marrow statues,
like gold carat plating of statues with beneath
only cheap metal... but then the atomic authenticity
measuring cylinder in u-turn to provoke
such animate extension into theory of inanimate things
that animate things provoked inanimate things to ask
whether the one promise be worth blind acceptance
or eyed destruction via logic itemising in coupling
of two base words - after all neither psyche or logic are
acidic words... they're base words... but coupling two
base words leaves an aftermath of acidic reactionaries
more prone than the singleton word **** that's acidic.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
my heart was a monotonous beeping
a soft old grandfather clock,
background noise at dinner parties
and a focal point for insomniacs
it droned on, neither increasing or decreasing,
neither rising or falling,
a steady beat of a steel drum on a hot summer night
i moved an inch closer to you
my heart was a ticking time bomb,
still steady as clockwork
but adding drama to the movie screen
it was stippling and a connect-the-dot photo of a sailboat
if you wired me up to a machine,
the line of my heart would be a steadily increasing mountain,
closer and closer to the destination
which is you
three inches closer
my heart was alla turca on piano
and impressionist paint strokes
it was dashed-dotted-dashed-dashed
it was swift like wind and current
it was nearly hummingbird wing
nearly death defying
you are two inches away
my heart has broken metronomes,
the tempo reached over five hundred
and chatter flooded into it
speaking words so fast
it sounds like a language from another planet
sometimes i wonder if my heart is really like mount rushmore
but it's not the head of founding fathers carved into the side
but the way you look when you look at me
you are here, i am here
the love i feel for you is plotted out on graph paper covering my floors but it keeps running off the page and i don't have enough paper
(a.m.c.)
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
(He)I’ll free Buchenwald and Belsen eventually
Or maybe (I)He’ll lie here
Morose as the faces on Mount Rushmore
For the first time I(He) recognized a universal neural network
A reserved self programming, algorithmic logic to all things
(I)He grinned, an intelligent uniqueness programmed
An open circuit on a yin line
Nothing is true, everything is permissible
A Closed circuit on a yang line
I(He) re-enters the cafeteria naked and hungry
(I’m)He’s closing in on the Illuminati
I Ching hexagram closes on a yang line
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 6:44 PM UTC
She knows exactly how the world works
Shares her well-read cynical voice
She wishes for miracles coming
Not believing our leader’s choice
She’s longing for Swords into Ploughshares
All words of war she cannot bear
Doesn’t trust The United Nations
Declares we haven’t got a prayer
The world’s Toolbox of Diplomacy
Lets foxes design the henhouse
She knows the top 3 richest people
Have more than HALF of everyone else
She shows how to make her life richer
Not relying on someone else
Has no sentimental view of life
Fully acquainted with herself
Challenging ANYONE’S opinion
Firing people up with the facts
She predicts trump’ll be on Mount Rushmore
His Nobel Peace Prize on his back
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
You had me at "Hey"
You had me at "Do dolphins get dizzy?"
You had me at "I wanna be a whale"
You had me at "Cyborgs in Mt. Rushmore."
You had me with every joke.
You had me at out first phone call.
You had me at first sight.
I was always yours.
I don't know why I let you in like I did.
You lighted up my whole world.
Then you let me shatter back into the darkness.
But you always had me at hello.
I will always think of you and all the butterflies with every mailbox I pass.
Goodbye.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
Pencil tips are like
Ladies hips
Gently swaying to the music
Gliding on frosted marble,
Drinking in the purity of
Rough parchment
Pencil tips are for when
ideas form words and
words form complexity
Scratching into notebooks,
Mountain peaks,
Translating concepts into
Mount Rushmore
Pens are too forceful
Permanent
Pencils can be erased
Just like every memory stored
Within a coffee can
In a homemade time capsule
The priest said God is pure
But when he made us,
He used pencil tips,
paper thin lines
Tracing and retracing
Imperfectness is perfect he said
Japanese paintings
Created with brush strokes
Evok-ing pictures of marvelous queens,
Cowardly jesters,
Mighty kings,
Elegant ballerinas, and
Alluring princes
Pencil tips created these fantasies
Dreams
Grandiose mirages fold and unfold
On top of tissue paper bibles,
Delicate taut skin
How do words create overbearing tears,
phantom heartbreak,
Jealous ex-girlfriends,
Infidelity infested ignorant ********
breathtaking wedding bells?
Pencil tips
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 5:13 PM UTC
man might suffocate under much less that expected of such concern; with such concern the least he can ascribe is worthy of an echo, or lost pedigree, or the forgotten remains.
if bygone twice
the angel-wing,
a pigeon-shit
and thrice the bowler-hat
of luck on the parade
of Trafalgar, then
my third Nelson hand
to shake a congratulation
to flick off Napoleon's
bi-corn to make a twangy
tango with four lions
rather than three
to make the shirt, and that too
was worth a kangaroo pouch
of son prior the father,
Jim prior to Timothy -
and the rest is, as they say is Lincoln
on Mt. Rushmore - thank
god i read the Marquis de Sade
too early,
to pervert myself with the French than
anticipate the English.
my first love was my father,
and the latter came, litany's oeuvre,
to which i sentenced my love
a caricature, and with each breath a loss...
what i might call a U-boat...
and that too was once a graffiti and tattoo
O days when a love for father coerces
the love for splendour - for he abandoned by both
mother and father and crucifix...
and kept idiotic chastised and chiselled...
to pigeon shape Gabriel
and crow croak Satan
and eagle aloof Raphael -
and with whatever tear to shed,
i shed.. with no eyes... blind - my tears
have wedded me to being blind.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
I'm going to write I love you,
With the tide,
The ripples on my finger,
Watch me glide.
I've grown wings, fins,
Darling can't you see?
Way up here, it's what you've done to me.
I'll etch Mount Rushmore,
With your face,
Darling darling darling,
Catch my pace.
I'll blow rings with the clouds,
Loops of love,
The silver bounds.
I turn the light bulbs,
In the stars,
Make them shine,
You'll see them from Mars.
The water the sun
The earth, the flame,
All of them wild,
A love I can't tame.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC