"seltzer" poems
You’re wishing plus wanting
to win the other side
remove your pride,
you untied tidal pool,
the wide subdivide of these paper pages.
Unrelenting numbers
remind you of the next stages,
taking you wildly to Namibia,
surrendering you to Zimbabwe,
the terminal station.
The narration vocalizes the translation of quotations,
your obligation to the violation of the rules, the regulations,
vulgarization of spoken word.
Pretty paintings plaster typecasts,
the pitter-patter of pity’s pretty ******
quickly shifting refurbished velvet sofas.
Overcast symphonies outlast
witty recast stanzas,
scores with notes naturally quote
verses romancing seltzer spines
noticing the negotiation of sore throats.
Oblivion’s oblivious to the people,
obnoxiously obscene with syncopated
saturation of public vital signs.
You’re the vain strain of virus
photocopying yourself within skin,
waste your sin on tattoos trapped on shins
safety pins selecting prints
pinning sets of twins to tanned wrappers
protecting official reports.
The ossuary welcomes records printed on thick paper
suspiciously missing skeleton swords.
Writing stories reversed while tipsy,
quickly preforming risky poetry smog,
sweetly omitting secret words,
trying to spell simply without the proper prologue.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
Charlie Chaplin, set the pace
Buster Keaton, old stone face
Groucho and the brothers Marx
Margaret Dumont for some sparks
Harold Lloyd, The Brothers Ritz
Did I mention Zazu Pitts?
Stan and Ollie, Keystone Cops
Chases that just wouldn't stop
The Stooges, Larry, Curly, Moe
and then theres Shemp and Curly Joe
Bing and Bob, and Dean and Jerry
Two could sing, while two made merry
Bud and Lou and who's on first?
Harry Langdon and Charlie Chase
I think who is on first base
Mabel Normand and Mack Swain
Always tied before the train
Pie fights, slapstick in black and white
This was when we laughed all night
Mack Sennet, Roach, and Our Gang
Spanky and Alfalfa sang
Words were twisted, spun and turned
People splashed and others burned
Remember back to days of yore
To when they had you on the floor
Rembember Baby Rose Marie
She started at the age of three
Many more could make the list
For many I know that I missed
Make 'em laugh and take a pie
Get sprayed with seltzer in the eye
Go and watch their films again
So comedy will always reign
Thank you to the funny folk
Who taught us how to take a joke....
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
Plunk your Magic Twanger
years ago when I was a tike
back when I could barely even ride my bike
there was this silly show I loved and had to see
on Saturday mornings just for kids
they showed short films and had funny skits
so weird it seemed they were just talking to me
films about this kid they called the Jungle Boy
he rode on an elephant and brought me great joy
always tracking down men doing evil things
then there was always this special guest
a doctor, a scientist, someone who impressed
who would try to demo and explain
their special skills but is was to no avail
along came the gremlin with water spritzer and pail
and on the poor speaker he would make it rain
he was called Froggy the Gremlin a puppet at best
he'd dance like a clown and stick out his chest
and he was always introduced with this silly chant
plunk your magic twanger froggy, oh my dear
and boing in a puff of smoke he would appear
and bedlam would ensue he'd go off in a rant
Hiya kids, Hiya, he'd always say as he danced
on the edge of my seat, I was so entranced
what kind of stunt would he now try to pull
squirt the guest with his seltzer bottle he was so bad
the guest would run away, run away so wet and mad
the gremlin always kept his bottle full
zany comedy, mindless laughter every week
couldn't wait to see who would be the next weeks geek
so innocent then so full of vigor and vim
there is another part to this story someday I will tell
later on in high school before the first morning's bell
Froggy is still alive, no cant forget him
Gomer LePoet...
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:41 AM UTC
My belly, a pimpled basketball,
puffed with pasta,
and my chest, just a hoop and a net, swishing wine through.
Spent my last ***
on cookies and cakes
stuffing my cheeks in backwards
with gushing gobs and slushy slimes.
I go mad like a fat queen.
my hot mouth,
now a thick, cocoa-creamy swirl,
as it turns into a custard-filled pastry of its own.
I do what I can to feel bliss among ****
Try to ignore the flies fizzing like seltzer.
The candy wrappers scattered wherever
like broken-into envelopes.
I feel a large thumb press, press, press
my skull to my ankles.
Tossing chocolate chunks square into
my throat like bozo buckets.
After a while
It stops being "eating"
and turns into a factory of into me and out of me.
In the end, the delicious part always gets too salty and
salt over salt is trash
and nothing stays
an ****** for more than a couple
pinches of this or that.
my body yells at me, because it wants nothing more but to
**** devil-face with those teeny-tiny, delicious
throbbing minutes.
I can't feel my life
and so I have to eat dinner on the floor.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
a haiku I: carbonated water rocks
slightly flavorful
carbonated beverage
one liter bottle
a haiku II: ode to seltzer
in massachusetts
seltzer costs eighty-nine cents
one liter bottles?
a haiku III: read and recycle and stuff
NY-MA-ME-CT-VT
five cent deposit (960 mL)
**** haiku format…
you liars that isn’t a ******* liter that is less than a liter **** america for not adapting to the metric system.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 3:55 PM UTC
Two navy and pink quilts
cover a floral couch
where her Oscar de Laurenta
perfume lingers.
Dust touches picture frames
of memories long past,
All of her clothes sit in
the closet, boasting red sweaters
colorful pants and
a pair of slip-ons that she
had worn the heels from.
The blue pants I borrowed
when I had gotten my own
***** lie on the top of the pile.
Her favorite plates sit on the
top shelf of the cabinet
beside the sink,
her lotion still waits for her
hands.
Cannoli shells wait to be filled,
just in time for Easter.
Bottles of seltzer ready for her
to drink at lunch time.
Ice cream ready for her grandchildren
sits untouched in the freezer.
The lumpy yellow clay bowl still
sits on a desk full of bills.
Things are missing, though.
Her loud, boisterous voice calling
when you open the door,
excitement filled "look at you's",
strong laughter,
the belief that you are in fact
taller since last week.
Slippers left at the front door
because she was in the garden.
Her wedding ring,
Her love,
Her life,
Her.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
****** Mary sunset
Soft tequila sigh
Ivory teardrop tumbler
Disregarded sky
Street breeze through the window
Kettle on the stove
Chopin in the parlor
Empty pack of cloves
Resonance of redwood
Essence of the earth
Shrine to Mother Mary
Sacred ****** birth
Portraits on the table
Gazing toward the floor
Cobwebs in the dresser
Tucked behind closed doors
Violins descending
From the upper room
Dissonance impending
Lost in worry’s womb
****** Mary sunrise
Flower pillow sigh
Alka Seltzer tumbler
Halfhearted goodbye
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
the first night you came over
after a few drinks of warm seltzer
i ran into the bathroom, gripped the sink, stared at myself in the mirror and said, “he is going to love me like i deserve”
i casually walked back to the living room, picked up my can, and drank the warm seltzer
the taste of the best summer of my life
now, as i sit here writing, it’s been over a year, and he does in fact love me like i deserve
yet i am here, running into my bathroom, gripping the sink, staring at myself in the mirror, and wishing that there was another body in the frame next to mine
i casually walk back to the living room, pick up my phone, and open the countdown app for the fifth time today to look at the number of days until i can see you again
16 days
that’s better than 31 like last time
if you ask me what the taste of the summer is for this summer
i’d tell you “longing”
but really, i’d be wishing it was warm seltzer
warm on your breath as you pulled me closer into you and whispered something in my ear
Jul 3, 2022
Jul 3, 2022 at 9:30 PM UTC
Dropped into a glass
The chemical reaction is immediate
Watch me dissolve and dissolute
Drink me until you are immune
Until I have no more power left to cure you.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 1:12 AM UTC
I.
All I know exists between clenched fists.
My hands didn’t come this way.
Everything foreign rubs them raw,
no matter how gentle.
This is how my body looks out for me.
There used to be sand here.
I held on so tight, I lost it.
Now, the sand dwells with two-way mirrors
and fish who need fresh air.
II.
Most days, I’m best left alone.
The handy-woman loosens my screws,
and thinks she’s always right.
On the days I’m a fish out of water,
she sees me as a crying baby.
She must be hungry, and the airplane comes again.
She’s still crying, and the airplane comes again.
I am not enough, and the airplane comes again.
When my belly swells,
she paints a barcode on my arm,
tries to exchange me for store credit.
III.
All that matters escapes me.
I’ve learned more from the vandals
shooting blow darts at the moon
than I ever did out west.
Most days, I doubt that I’m still breathing.
My lungs are worms’ meat.
My lungs don’t know if they need water or air.
Thank God for shallow ends and seltzer.
IV.
These IOUs are legs
my brain can’t recognize.
I clamp them at the knees;
I pray for gangrene.
When the doctors drain the infection,
they say, this can’t be what you want.
This is how I look out for my body.
I’m still searching for a saw.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:04 AM UTC
Modern Appetite
by Michael R. Burch
It grumbled low, insisting it would feast
on blood and flesh, etcetera, at least
three times a day. With soft lubricious grease
and pale salacious oils, it would ease
its way through life. Each day—an aperitif.
Each night—a frothy bromide, for relief.
It lived on TV fare, wore pinafores,
slurped sugar-coated gumballs, gobbled S’mores.
When gas ensued, it burped and farted. ’Course,
it thought aloud, my wife will leave me. ******
are not so **** particular. Divorce
is certainly a settlement, toujours!
A Tums a day will keep the shrink away,
recalcify old bones, keep gas at bay.
If Simon says, etcetera, Mother, may
I have my hit of calcium today?
Keywords/Tags: modern, appetite, supersize, me, indulgence, gluttony, bromide, seltzer, gas, Tums, calcium, quick, cure, tonic, overeating
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 3:33 AM UTC
4/23/2016
"Speaking of batteries,
what's the positive in this? Negative?"
she threw out there, lithe little
extensions of her hand palely wrapped about a martini glass stem. It held seltzer and ginger.
Long Island City, Queens
twinkled cobaltly, covertly, in the
harbour
incognito, morphing into the sky
in the gloaming.
"All those people," I said, ignoring
the question. I always ignore the question. "So many. But this city
so cruel and brutalist and impersonal."
She shook her head,
stirred her cocktail stirrer
the mint sprig moved to the bottom
of the glass.
"As opposed
to what?"
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
The dream herein then is to die before they catch you.
To pass in your sleep, fading in new seas
of physical complications and credit debt;
to die before someone breaks you.
To get hit by something so large,
you'll have to call it "God".
For some, before their liver punches out,
and their bodies turn shades unintended.
Epilogue, and the bank takes back the house.
Your day job doesn't skip a beat.
Your art goes unnoticed.
Your clothes go to charity.
Your mattress goes to the curb.
Not a single cloud to sit in
and observe, how bodies rot,
but lives dissolve.
More like salt than alka-seltzer,
unless you have more enemies
than I.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Confused seems to be the new grade.
i've brought it home on my report cards
for years and yet
never allowed it to dampen until now.
It would appear to many that i have
lifted a new blank page from the books
and flailed around senselessly, finally
resorting to casually disembarking the
book on an outward passage through
the plate glass window of the 19th
floor apartment.
It doesn't scream on the way down,
primarily due to the complex fact that
it knew in some way or form that
this day would come eventually.
(Across the street, an old man sat
on a park bench, feeding popcorn
and alka-seltzer to the flocks of
pigeons he attracted. He watched
the book's swan dive and unapologetically
smiled inside: also so disenchanted that
he too gave himself coal in his
stocking labeled "Dreams.")
i don't smile anymore for them;
makes me sad inside, i guess,
because one day we will be old,
carry our canes arthritically and
look for and reminisce about each,
but who knows if together.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
The horizon hung coated with evaporated sea salt,
a buttery rosewood sun dipped like quicksand
until it dissolved. Alka-Seltzer into foamy crests
atop the antique sea beneath
The sunset fell like a pinball until it reached a place to rest
miles below. It landed with a deep bellowing bass
felt in the spines of every being with a pulse
Until the water rose in braided mounds, navy and silver,
cracking heavy splattered warnings in the air like
chalk-dust on a clean blackboard or oily fingerprints
on crystal chandeliers, as if to say tomorrow.
When tomorrow came, Earth held its breath
as if bandaged tightly, protected in a giant net.
And although every organism capable of movement was in motion,
every set of eyes could not help but stick to the sight
of a shifting universe.
In a single blink, the whistling knot of dust and rock
split the sky wide open before cracking fiery into the Gulf.
Ripped open at the seams, the bright became black
And that was how it would stay as pupils constricted for the last time,
no one knew whether the dark was from the dense, leaking ashes
or from millions of scrambling feet on the dusty ground
running in neither direction, in every direction,
although everyone knew by now there was no more direction.
As it goes, their existence would become no more than a theory.
Their first footprints in the dewy clay moss
would become no more than a hunch,
and all anybody really says is that nobody really knows.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
Modern Appetite
by Michael R. Burch
It grumbled low, insisting it would feast
on blood and flesh, etcetera, at least
three times a day. With soft lubricious grease
and pale salacious oils, it would ease
its way through life. Each day—an aperitif.
Each night—a frothy bromide, for relief.
It lived on TV fare, wore pinafores,
slurped sugar-coated gumballs, gobbled S’mores.
When gas ensued, it burped and farted. ’Course,
it thought aloud, my wife will leave me. ******
are not so **** particular. Divorce
is certainly a settlement, toujours!
A Tums a day will keep the shrink away,
recalcify old bones, keep gas at bay.
If Simon says, etcetera, Mother, may
I have my hit of calcium today?
Keywords/Tags: modern, appetite, supersize, me, indulgence, gluttony, bromide, seltzer, gas, Tums, calcium, quick, cure, tonic, overeating
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 1:55 AM UTC
Encyclopedic mainframes
Lap-top heads
Power-boxes for multitudinous outlets, plugs, chargers
Conduits manipulating
Fiber-optic arteries
Artificial energy
ZAP
Pale lights
Computers aglow in dark cloistered bedrooms
Powered pacemakers stalling at microwaves
Electrocuted blood - cookied fantasies
Ads proclaiming everything free!
Pharmaceutical elixirs for limpness, lumpiness, loneliness
Snake-oil for suffering
Nigerian kings, Syrian refugees
*********** clever memes, whimsical gifs, shocking news, witty banter
Socio-politic-religous-diatribes
Spewing on every thread
Existential *****
Aroma-less cuisines
Vacuumed vacations
Youtubed communions
Suicide selfies.
Crucifixdrones - pedolandia
Jdate.POF.AshleyMadison.Match. Eharmony.SpeedDate.OKcupid
CG. Missed encounters...
Serial killers,
Pixalated ******* vein-throbbed **** shots, cardboard gloryholes
Instagramed I
Inviolate I
Internet I
I I I
No sweaty arm pits, cottage cheese, gray nose hairs or belly fat
Computer [ScreenShot]
While behind, posters hang: The Doors, Tupac, NIN, The Smiths, Hendrix, Joy Division, Nirvana
HandshapedHeart.
2D souls
Text-dating
144 word manifestos
#revolutions
Archetype emoticons
Doodled centaurs
Caged in matrices
Transcendental notes
Need a hit
Of internet smack
A line, a pinch, a drag
A like, a comment, a kudos
A reply, a thumbs up, a share, a poke
One measly view
Baby, come on, give me a fix
Just one
Notification: ding-beep-buzzzz
I want to dissolve like alka-seltzer in tap water
Otherwise I'm a used-up toothpaste tube
Sitting in a dank medicine cabinet
If not, I am
A stick-figure created from matches
Drowning in a drum of gasoline
Not buried beneath pregnant soil
No. dumped into blue recycling bins.
[Ctrl +Alt+Delete]
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
I met Mike while standing on a peer
Plucking up food when people got near
He wandered up to where i sat
A portly belly made him seem fat
I gave him some leftover bread
Which I brought for the pigeons I had recently fed.
Mike seemed stunned, reaching over
He couldn't grasp it so I brought my hand lower
Peckish, he ate
From my palm, which had become a makeshift plate
Full, he sauntered down the path
To an adolescent boy toying with wrath
Mike, with his stomach full
Couldn't resist the young man's pull
Reached out for the food in the boy's hand
Not knowing the act had been planned
Mike flew off and quickly imploded
The food, within, had alka-seltzer loaded
This is what happens when life gets dull
Young boys blow up my new pet seagull
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
I want to drown in ***
Wallow in tequila
Suffocate in bourbon
And by the time I fall asleep
I’ll forget about you
And when I wake
I’ll celebrate with mimosas,
Her name far away from my tongue
And you still would not notice
Because your beer
With two X’s
Will kiss me and keep me intoxicated
Until I pop two fizzes
Seltzer and sober
And I’ll remember
Why I never wanted to fall in love
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
The stench of broken promises linger in the bottom of empty shot glasses
High heels strewn across the floor, I have become small again.
Black makeup running down my face like a runner in last place,
Temporary maturity bought for seven dollars in a Maybelline bottle.
If only the company we kept were as silent as the stars,
a mistake would dissolve like alka seltzer in the room temperature water
That I can’t stop chugging.
Alcohol depriving me of life essentials like, h2o and the will to live.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
I relapsed in every way I could last night and when people ask about my scars I have trouble saying "I used to cut" because I feel like I'm lying to them and when she asked me why I did it I didn't know what to say other than "I'm drunk" and it was one hundred and one degrees Fahrenheit today and I wore a flannel shirt so my parents wouldn't see the canyon I carved into my arm and I didn't get out of bed until four PM because of my hangover and my mom brought me Advil and seltzer water and it breaks my heart that she helped me and I couldn't tell her what was wrong and I don't know how to ******* help myself anymore I feel like such a lost cause and I think it might be better if I just killed myself because then I wouldn't have to deal with this and I wouldn't keep hurting people and I'm sorry I keep doing this I'm sorry I don't know how to handle this I'm sorry I'm a bad person I'm sorry I stole your ***** I'm sorry I got blood on the sheets
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
this is what gothmess says, in 140 characters or less..
on going out, and going home:
"just can't be happy tonight"
"so I left. unwilling to be anything but alone"
some things are better left forgotten:
"forget what I was going to tell you"
about to pass out:
"radio silence"
cough medicine:
"dextromethorphan"
an autobiography:
"if you like what you can't have and the smell of stale cigarettes
you're sure going to love me."
"and that's dedicated to somebody"
a confession:
"theres an awful lot of rapid life changes being thrown at me & so typically I've decided to sleep more and smoke more and be lazier overall"
"additionally I might add that all of my friends have discovered how infrequently I get laid and have decided to comment about it"
"so that feels nice. okay goodnight"
on relaspse:
"puked my throat out. the taste of loneliness is the taste of failure"
on alliterations:
"migranes and mixed feelings today"
on fine dining:
"stir fry is the best way to eat your feelings"
death cab for cutie references:
"tiny vessels from the other side of the microphone isn't great"
on setting goals:
"tomorrow I will wake up new and fresh and young and me"
"replacing all meals with green tea"
and not quite accomplishing them:
"old habits die hard"
"I didn't wake up new or fresh because I woke up me"
missing MySpace's "current mood" feature:
"tired and jaded and bored to tears"
potential comedy ideas:
" "my easter hickey" "
on having a hickey:
"tiny vessels *******
on alka seltzer cough and cold medicine:
"no such thing as a half dose"
"orange carbonated salvation"
on life outlook:
**** 'em"
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
The fizz rises, the fizz falls
pain harkens, fever calls;
along the forehead, and down
shivering arms awaiting the round
fizz rising and falling.
Froth settles on the top,
but the cough, the cough remains;
the fizz, soft now yellow,
not yet, is
bringing any relief.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
Carbon copy wolves approach a baby in a carriage,
ripping checks from checkbooks, checking
stock quotes, let me rock those Dockers for a day,
and pay me garbage cash to clean your pool.
I'd never let my money turn me into you, you
conquered bastion of a man, you broken pipeline
leaking seltzer water laugh tracks on repeat.
I seat myself behind your mother as we watch you
hate the world you pay to **** and juggle clients
for applause. I hope you dig your own memorial
with dollars that you stole, and make a million
off the tears that come to decorate the ground
around your feet.
Because no matter how you frame it, you're
a picture of "the worst is yet to come,"
and if you're lucky, maybe God (or some
divine eternal something) will forgive you for
the things you'll learn in time to cold regret.
But maybe not, and maybe greed will end you yet.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
You cut your foot on the floor of the laundry room,
We dressed your wound in kisses.
You pointed to a path that led to wildflowers and tall grass
And shattered beer bottles like stained glass littering the ground,
It was overgrown
Like his hair in the summer.
Something about cruise control and two left feet,
And second hand smoke from the passenger seat
And drowning the butterflies in our stomachs with seltzer water,
Because it burns like gasoline.
I'm sorry I'm not everything my first impression made me out to be.
I am a flower growing through the crack in the sidewalk but not as beautiful as the roses he got me.
Holding secrets deep like salt in wounds,
Or caskets filled with forever sleep,
Because I didn't want to hurt you and you didn't want to hurt me.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC