"shoplifting" poems
Tail turned to red sunset on a juniper crown a lone magpie cawks.
Mad at Oryoki in the shrine-room -- Thistles blossomed late afternoon.
Put on my shirt and took it off in the sun walking the path to lunch.
A dandelion seed floats above the marsh grass with the mosquitos.
At 4 A.M. the two middleaged men sleeping together holding hands.
In the half-light of dawn a few birds warble under the Pleiades.
Sky reddens behind fir trees, larks twitter, sparrows cheep cheep cheep
cheep cheep.
July 1983
Caught shoplifting ran out the department store at sunrise and woke up.
August 1983
4.2k
I woke up too early.
It was still dark out.
I tried to read some
Hunter S. Thompson, but
it made me thirsty,
not a drop in the
place.
I wish I were in
Puerto Rico.
A few nights ago my
girlfriend and
I got into it.
She bit me and
scratched my face.
We were drunk on
wine from Argentina.
The coffee I’m
drinking doesn’t taste
right.
I wish I were in
Puerto Rico.
In the wee hours of
the morning
I decided
to shave my head.
It took four razors, but
I finally got the
job done.
I looked in the
mirror,
and a stranger peered
back at me;
a head like Gandhi
and a face like Marciano.
I wish I were in
Puerto Rico.
Yesterday
my girlfriend and I went
on a shoplifting spree.
I stole coffee,
a couple of books,
a hat, denture glue, and
a **** ring.
She’s a much better thief than
me.
She took
razors, two tapestries, laundry soap and
trash bags, makeup, shampoo
and coffee that doesn’t taste funny.
As the sun gently
kisses the horizon
and begins to bathe
Iowa City in golden light,
I wish I were in
Puerto Rico.
Tomorrow morning
I have to be in
court.
A month ago I stole
some wine and got caught.
My day of reckoning has
almost arrived.
I should just get a
fine that I will
never pay, but
with these things,
one never knows.
The judge could be
hung over or constipated
or worse yet, he could have
read my poetry.
I really wish I were in
Puerto Rico.
Mar 2, 2023
Mar 2, 2023 at 7:14 AM UTC
Last night
we were in love
for a few hours
and not the type of love
you cover with a ******
There we were
taking pictures of each other
and we breathed and stared
when I went to sleep last night
I didn’t feel sick anymore
not ****** up or ****** over
Something in these hours
comes out and it leaves
a welcome mat
on the inside of the door
Stairs didn’t feel like mountains
my headache didn’t feel like a time bomb
eyes were not sore, and limbs were not flimsy
My clumsy body tilts on an axis of shoplifting
knuckles pop like fire crackers
monkeys howled at the trees, not from them
I don’t displace my love anymore
because I don’t have anything to displace
like a potted plant falling off of an apartment balcony
the clay and dirt scatter everywhere,
as if
they’re all late for a meeting
a very, very important meeting
the flower will just sleep there
until someone steps on it
regardless,
the flower is still pretty as it ever was
like you
All I ever drink now is sugar water
and lately it feels like my teeth are falling out
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 7:57 PM UTC
While shopping
for a pair of pants
the music
was playing
songs which I thought
were designed
to prevent
shoplifting.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 7:12 AM UTC
A folkie
once admirable
imperviously her
in jeans
with an
idea of
a woman
hanging out
in upside
with bathing
suit and
berth in
endocrine glands
would endorse
subsistence with
such a
spree indeed.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
There are men in the yards
Boys, really
That teased me endlessly
In school
And now they are grown up
Angular in their carhartts
Corn fed
Sun red
From bailing too much hay
A little extra money on a weekend
They are clad in camo hats
Soft denim
Work clothes
When I knew them they were farm boys
Who were never looking for more
Than a corn fed
Country princess
A pair of cowgirl boots
To take to bed
And now they’re driving fire trucks
Tractors
International harvesters
Their princesses
Have fattened up
Wide hips are good for children
Easy enough to let yourself go then
Cute clothes are for the rich city *******
Who still fit into a 2
And their kids
A new generation of
Freeburgians
Are drawing with chalk in the streets
And the older ones
Are riding bikes
Long outgrown
Scraping their knees
Getting stung by bees
Shoplifting from the motomart
They will grow up normal
Grow into their work clothes
Keep that small town pride alive
Keep the corn fields, keep the rye
Keep the beans and wheat and barley
Growing high
And I keep running right on by
I never knew these people
Though I wear boots too
And my hands are calloused
From working with the soil
In the distance I can see the steeple
And my car
Parked for a quick getaway
Another day
Avoiding this place
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
if you're reading this really in the morning
im your ex girlfriend probably
and youre trying to see whats up
im in love and im a lot happier than i was with you
but im still not totally happy, i hope thats satisfying
being an ex girlfriend is such a minor part of my identity, wow
my poetry about other stuff still *****
but my love poems are a lot better now bc i mean them, lol.
if you're reading this at maybe five thirty pm
and you just got off work
and you follow me on hellopoetry.com because you liked a poem
i wrote in 2013 and thought you'd stick around
i'm just gonna spoil the ending for you now:
i'm only gonna get worse
if you're reading this when you should be sleeping
and you're middle name's elizabeth and you lie
about hating shoplifting
i love you too
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 11:09 PM UTC
The Cop
I'm a cop walking the beat,
about to retire with hurt feet.
followed a man who looked suspicious,
from the size of his gun, I knew he was vicious.
He went inside a hotel lobby,
acting all bossy and snobby.
He took hostages, except for me,
I shot him dead and set them free.
That's the old fashioned American way,
plus I'm a cop, who wants his pay.
Next night I heard a woman scream,
getting ***** as he tried to spill his cream.
I also shot him dead,
for saving her, she gave me head.
All because I'm a good cop,
I offered to use the mop.
I shoot people who sell drugs,
their just useless stupid thugs.
I shoot first, question are for later,
my gun would **** the largest alligator.
Next night followed a woman, inside a store,
she was shoplifting, I thought maybe she was poor.
Followed he into her fancy car,
I shot that stealing rock star.
Got in some trouble on that one,
a cops job is never done.
Next night followed a molester,
following a young boy,
offering candy and a shinny new toy.
Saw him stalking in the park,
but I'm a cop, who's not afraid of the dark.
Took my shot, while he was watching,
it was the boys dad, I saw falling.
Retired early without a pension,
should have taken that course in safety prevention.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
i would steal
everyone's happiness
and not even really care
(well
maybe
a little)
if i could make you feel better
right now.
i would capture all the smiles
in a carved box
and release them
while i lay against you
praying that one
would embark upon
your lips
i would
contain every laugh
wind them into a long
ball of yarn
rest my head in your lap;
tie you up.
i'd
pluck the sun
from the sky
like a yellow
bouncing ball
and give it to you
to obey your every whim
i'd ****** the moon
from it's holder
shrink it in my washing machine
and hang it in the corner
of your bedroom
i would
tickle your chest
with my lips
rub your neck
stroke your forehead
in my lap
if only i could
make it better
but that's the one thing
i
cannot
do
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
Seize the moment
they say
live in the moment
to seize is to take
to take is to steal
I begin pickpocketing
moments for myself
and no one else
getting advice from what can
only be a moment thief
Articles with click-throughs
said I could love myself
three easy steps
ten easy steps
arbitrary quantities
erroneous
because it has taken
thousands of difficult steps
to begin loving myself
and only with the help
of moments from
strangers and tourists
in my town
The moment thief tells me
not to be scared of being scared
It tells me to be proud
of myself
never ashamed
of how I came to find out
the moment thief
does not know
what I do not know
why I like to make
generalizations
about humanity
as a whole
after being hurt by
only one person
The snatcher says to me
living is as easy as not dying
There is no use shoplifting
the only good lives
are in the street
and in the homes
be a cat burglar
ahead of the pack
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Spirit fooled, my roots are blue now…
a birth insemination façade, it’s all really just a departure station
Blood is overrated like heirlooms now,
my earth interpretation of the Son is really just a miniature statue
From good to bad, popped the lid off by shoplifting,
Coz’ I’m from the hood and glad I can prop what I pulled off by uplifting.
This conniving side, Kundalini said it’s critical…
I remember the pain of discomfort in jail...
Sleeping inside that biting minky next to a Criminal clustered my praying effort to make bail. Spitting fire across with rage, the only love I can feel is from my Mother, so beware of blind fury...My Siblings’ wires are crossed with age, they only love what they can feel from Matter and Affairs , as if bewitched by Muti. I don’t have friends, rather Associates, there’s nothing like a relationship controlled by a timely device. The Real Ones are under the Sand, I call them Appropriates…She was ahead of her Creation ship but opposed by a tide of an untimely demise. Now I’m in solitude on this table surrounded by demons, but Jesu still breaks bread…A Soldier should learn to stay stable even though his bound to say “Yes” to deal with fake Men.
So fasten your seatbelt and countdown the launch sequence
Ready to blast off this sieged land compound, notch the frequence…
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
It's dizzying how much misunderstanding there can be
between a father and son.
He thinks I'm out having *** smoking dope, getting in fights, stealing cars and shoplifting.
When I all I do is chain smoke with my friends and ***** about our respective fathers.
So much trust has been lost in such a little time
and it's not him, it's me.
Coming home high, smelling of cigarettes, two hours late,
that'll do it.
I can't tell him that I was two hours late because I was trying to sober up,
finding it disrespectful
to be high around my own old man.
He's afraid.
Because I'm just like him, and he sees it.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
Shoplifting tragedy is a fine art that I have perfected.
Dancing around to the tune of
Someone else’s funeral procession.
To the monkey without its mother, crying,
I wear its tears like a silk blouse,
Now, I have reasons, for being so lonely.
I am not so crazy after all.
Justifications are my diamonds,
Rings, bracelets, and earrings.
Now to a preacher reading Psalms,
Grabbing hold of my ears,
Directing them towards
The daughter, her father lost to cancer.
I now have a new winter coat, of the finest wool.
I was getting pretty cold with myself,
Frostbitten with my own thoughts.
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 2:52 PM UTC
Suddenly your switchblade would slash the person's throat
Put the knife in the person's hand and write a suicide note
You would dance along tiled floors, and re-paint the red doors
You spend most of your nights shoplifting at dollar stores
Gaunt and pale, you still lurk in the stark distance
You have always scoffed at the conformist's existence
You'd rather walk along the busy bridges and highways
And contemplate suicide with a sad look on your face
You'd rather drink the night away, and complain
While other people are having fun and getting laid
But I see myself in you, this misunderstood shadow
We are variations of Van Gogh, everybody knows
Teardrops drip off of our noses, no one gives us roses
I wouldn't paint you starry nights, but a reflection of me
No one else, my cold blank blue eyes staring back at me
Your cold blank blue eyes staring back at me
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
Today is one of those days
when your throat is sore for no reason
and your voice scratches its way out of your esophagus;
like an old CD, skipping, and stopping at certain intervals.
Overcast, the sky is an apathetic shade of dolphin grey
The pressure of the inevitable rain, pressing;
holding you with the weight of the sun hidden behind.
Today is one of those days
when you cannot drag yourself out of sleep,
even though you’ve slept for a day and a quarter.
A day where you don’t want to eat,
but you’re still shaking from the hunger
and coffee and cigarettes are all that will do the trick.
Sitting on the pavement, damp and wet.
It hasn’t rained yet but we still never forget
the way the cold feels against our jeans;
smoking cigarette butts, discarded dreams.
With old LCD screens out scratched phones shine
signifying how broken our view of the world may be-
but, clearly, we still see.
As we take random pills we found and pretend we are high-
we drink cheap liquor and curse at the sky.
Sitting on the curb, in the literal gutter,
Loitering’s a constant when you have nowhere to go.
Walking for hours
in rain, heat or snow,
our lives in a bag,
wearing the same clothes.
Showering in a gas station sink,
shoplifting to eat,
the parks were our bed
the bleachers our dining rooms.
The shelter kicked us out for fighting that old guy
and the soup kitchens didn’t feed us
because we didn’t have the proper paperwork.
Our skin is grey and pale as the sky,
our eyes are full of light
as our brain starts to die;
but we are free,
and we fly-
“wild birds.”
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
I once wrote a poem
Of a girl that I knew
But I no longer feel the same
So take this poem to be true
This girl that I know
Acts blonder than her hair
She likes to put on a show
And got caught shoplifting at Claire's
She surrounds herself with guys
And Miley Cyrus magazines
She has the prettiest eyes
And would die for a benzodiazepine
She hates her size, and her thighs
But she really just can't see
It's in vain that she tries
Because she is nothing but perfect to me
I've never felt better
Than with this girl that I know
She's cuter than an Irish Red and White Setter
Hannah, I love you
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
I was born fast and moving in the back of a bus 8 ½ miles outside of New Orleans. I was not noticed until my ***** cries wafted to the front of the bus, heard by a 50-year-old transvestite named Is-he-dora trying to homestead in Kentucky. She put me her manicured under arm and carried me off. You see, mom pulled up her ******* quick, smoothed out her cardigan, and popped a Quaalude before the driver could realize she climbed out of the emergency back exit.
My first drink was bourbon through a ****** I teethed raw leather, the heel of an old boot, and a mannequin who was named Dolly. She only wore red satin and peacock feathers. The gals only bathed her in sesame oil with almonds floating in the jar. She smelled of mom. My school was on the laps of the people in the back of racetrack stables. I take my learning fast paced with a side of jockey.
I took to the streets half paved by the beats. Cassidy may have had the road, but I had the words. I was thrown out of every Mormon congregation south of the Mason-Dixon. I made it to New York in a bathtub in the base of a pick up truck for the purposes of shoplifting for fun and profit. I vogued my way through Harlem, and at night I slept with Dolly’s sister in the bedding section of bloomies.
Here I am. Right in front of you. Can you see me? Can you smell me? Can you feel me?
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
Love.
It has made fools of us all, for centuries gone by. I am a fool.
The awkward smile
The absent-minded tucking of my hair behind my ear
I glow in her company
She is radiant, and it rubs off onto me a little when I am near her.
There must be a quote about that somewhere.
A fool I may be, but an honest fool
I see her faults
Selfharming and shoplifting,
But a thief with morals
How to say something?
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
empty imagery
I am aware a sparrow exists. not in a spiritual vacuum. people are another hell.
empty imagery
woman large, woman blank. vessel of prayer. being led by my father to the backroom where her child is being held for shoplifting. dizzy child versed in how equalizing the chewing of gum can be. once in the backroom, my mother takes over. the child sitting, a son, knuckles hovering as listless as this dual recount.
the table being carried from the employee cafeteria. not arriving before the woman rears and breaks the child’s nose with her boot. the table in the wrong room. the shy people around it. the following mayhem from which the boy shrinks to swallow his gum. how the gum goes right to his chest caved from being stepped on by his older brother’s left foot to keep him still during the nightly ritual of lengthening both arms by the hands. his arms necessary for thieving.
his arms for pain to tunnel through.
empty imagery
excuse my friend his earlier joy in saying *who do I have to **** to get ****** around here*. at age 19 a man exploded beside my friend and my friend went quiet. to his grave thinking his own bomb malfunctioned.
empty imagery
to think on it is to acknowledge something came before both the chicken and the egg. but don’t get knotted. we’re going with the coverage of the tree no one heard.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
unfinished
If you understand me
You’ll understand
I want more
You can’t just walk in
And out of the door
To my heart
I’m not something
Some temporary fling
For you to tear apart
I’m not something to
Discard
Like the peel
Of an orange
While my heart is consumed
And then spat out by you
My heart is not
A revolving door
For you to come into
And out of
No more
Shoplifting
My emotions
You're stealing my mind
Stealing my time
Stealing my dignity
I won't let you steal my heart anymore
Here's your eviction notice
Good bye
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
(now a penchant with less Zionist trenchant ululation to vent.)
Not a peep passed thru mine -
aye vaguely attest
what ten? eleven? twelve? age
of following anecdote at best
guest, but no
doubt yours truly
with figurative heart in chest
scared puny meek boy
tight lipped silently confessed
to foiled attempt, sans trying
unsuccessfully to steal a yoyo,
inviting tummy prepubescent
unbuttoning, a substantially
sprawling Holy skype sizing breast
of mine upon be nabbed,
thus aye didst detest
foolish kid ploy, and
(prematurely nipping
in the bud) messed
up potential life of crime
with first and only
shoplifting heist jest
for getting caught no a pest
key yoyo, mama would
(IF FOUND OUT)
axe me no quest
chin, but whack me itty bitty
teensy weensy derriere lest
quickly putting to rest
any Robin Hood
fantasy life of
high stakes crime pressed,
and squeezed out the noggin
with apropos punishment addressed
thankfully, neither parent
got wind, nor ever guessed
their beautiful darling
boy did test
petty theft, never
matured nor didst crest
into a profitable "yoyo
string Ponzi like
scheme," thus ballsiest
dare devilish and bitterest,
and laughably noble lest
act yours truly ever attempted
immediately ceased to shelve bravest
sleight of hand find
delve during broad est
daylight, I immediately
didst shelve, when clumsiest
initial foray into
the world wide web
tubby come cleverest
lad, this side of
Lansdale, Pennsylvania
many damnedest
yesterdays ago, never
took another earnest
tempting gamble since security
detail nearly wrest
head possible zapped feeblest Ames?
to pilfer from other
Department stores if pressed
for money no matter,
I might miss an enforced
hated ballet class,
with abs salute zest!
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
There's a reason we're here
Each day means something
We both try to ignore
Cuz we know what's in store
If we leave our stores open
We'll have our floors cleared
Then we'll get out of here
Each of us will be leaving
With what wasn't ours
To take and to keep away
We stole all our good parts
And at the end of each day
We'll decide we should stay
Because we can't fend for ourselves
When we're both such easy targets
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
Poor Dovers
its a tough town where a ******
has a Rolls and wears Gucci and Fiarucci
and Dovers and mates are shoplifting aftershaves
brothers our lives are hard and where is our birthright
why do we suffer when darkies are smiling and drinking champagne
never mind momentum are on their way to wreck havoc and chaos
we'll paint the town red and make their lives hell for we own the land
No ****** ain't gonna live better than us, we and the devil will see to this
we will ru around like mad dogs
we will lie through out front teeth and then some more
we will hound and harass and bring down the fires of hell
we are Dovers and our empty fragile egos
cannot bear this
the rich Jews have monopolized the economy
the clever Asains are everywhere now even in charge of our Finances
the Blacks are making millions in football and Sports
and now this Darky thinks he's Royalty
No, no, no we can't take this suffering anymore
we are reduced to stealing to get by
we can't take this humiliation anymore
Arise comrades the revolution is here
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 11:23 PM UTC