"sitter" poems
Oh sleepless night, why are your eyes red? Oh sleepless night, why do you gasp every time you close your eyes? Oh sleepless night, why are you paranoid? Oh sleepless night, oh sleepless night has all the sheep died, because you only see a fence without sheep to count? Oh sleepless night, do you want to talk about it? Oh sleepless night, why do you talk to yourself, have you finally lost it? Oh sleepless night, I think you have and I think I know why! Oh sleepless night, we are one, so really I'm just asking myself these questions. Oh sleepless night, was it because I heard my dad beating my mom? Oh sleepless night is it because I had a baby sitter that sexually assaulted me? Oh sleepless night, is it because after the baby sitter was asleep I killed him? Oh sleepless night, Oh sleepless night, is it because I get bullied at school? Oh sleepless night, what do I have in my hand right now? Oh sleepless night, I tell you the truth I'm done with you. Oh sleepless night, Oh sleepless night, all it would take is a simple click...click...Boom!!!
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:18 PM UTC
Saturday Saturn and Santa Clause Satan
Captain Crunch Kringle and Krampus cry madchen.
Bed sitter seniors sit back and lament.
Another day's Christmas ducats mis-spent.
When the log scrapes,
When the door bleeds,
When you hate your Dad.
Remember that you just might run out of food.
And that would beeee,
quite bad.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
so you say you’re a bad ***** huh
so you prefer to be identified by bad ***** instead of ur real name huh
so you prefer to be valued by money instead of your worth
so you are a bad bitch,i ain’t tryna judge you,this ain’t no court
the term “bad ***** can’t end you up as a wife
those instagram pictures wont work,you can’t put a filter on life
you were born original,now you chose to live as a copy
look colourful on the outside but your life is sloppy
the beauty of having beauty is a lot more than being beautiful
the path to life you follow isnt geting any where meaningful
so you say”love sucks,i chase paper”cus to you love is just a verb
no cure for your attitude so you take drugs and herbs(weed)
anything that has a monetary value is worthless
you used to value more but the tag”bad bitch”made you less
you are now defined by pictures of you kissing the air,
exposing you ***** and *** looking for the next prey on facebook or instgram
we follow our dreams but a responsible man wont follow a”bad ***** on twitter
so you can say,you are not any responsible man’s dream
be a bad ***** all your youth and when old a baby sitter?
you raise the stakes for yourself and still cant cross the beam
life is not rosy and even if it is,roses have thorns
those things you do will hunt you,they’ll come with horns
lipsticks,eyelashes,short gowns,expensive wrist watches and purses
money first and then back on the ground,now thats a curse
bad ******* exist amongst us,they are our friends on facebook
"prostitute"sounds bizzare so she says shez a "bad *****
the person you are still searches for the person you should be
and i hope youre eyes dont remain shut for you to see
and the younger girs see you and want to be like you
they want to dress all thight and paint their faces like you
no one wants to be like margareth thatcher
they all wanna be nickky minaj
these days there are more bad ******* than wives
and to responsible men it’s like stabs from 100 knives
because a bad ***** will follow men
but a lady will cling to a man
and if you say youre a bad ***** and you need no man
tell that to yourself when you turn 40
a lady isnt defined by how bad or ****** she is but how elegant and classy she is
a bad ***** is pretty but the beauty of a lady is defining
so choose today to be a lady and start the change for our generation!#thepoet
.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
~
*Here is an assertion
and showiness
in the expanse
of white skin – from her
high forehead,
down her graceful neck,
shoulders, and arms.
Although the black
of her dress is bold,
it is also deep, recessive,
and mysterious.
He stalks her
as one does a deer,
his palette composed of
lead white, rose madder,
vermilion, viridian,
and bone black.
A dash of light rose
over the former
gloomy background,
you see, and
the élancée figure
shows to much
greater advantage.
Her body boldly
faces forward while
her head is turned in profile.
A profile of both
assertion and retreat.
The table provides support,
and echoes her
curves and stance.
One strap of her gown
has fallen down
her right shoulder,
suggesting the possibility
of further revelation;
one more struggle
and the lady will be free.
Everything converges to
imply a distant sexuality
under the professional
control of the sitter,
rather than offered for
the viewer's delectation.
Her untamed wilderness
remains unseen.*
~
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 9:59 AM UTC
Stepping on a rusty nail
Showing the baby sitter the back yard
Went straight through my Ninja Turtle Flip-Flops
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
Walking out back to the tree with the vines
Dogs barkin' and mesquitos bite
Don't tell mom if I fall
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
Walking down the street to the church
Meeting up with Zach for a smoke
Got it stashed in a lock box behind
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a women
Life is funny, well peculiar I guess
You think I got it all figured out
Then why am I such a ******* wreck
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
An abandoned mine shaft
On the top of a blown up mountain
Throwing myself into traps
I looked up at the sky last night
I think I saw a woman
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
You were the Barbie jeep engineer.
You were the 5-card pinochle player.
You were the gripe to do the dishes.
You were the patient mall bench sitter.
You were Elvis Presley records and
paper backed crime novels.
You were my new antivirus software.
You were the chatter in the middle of an
NCIS episode.
You were the "It's okay, sweetie" on the
other end of the phone.
You were the voice of every bathtime storybook.
You were the baking soda on my first wasp sting.
You were the green Ford Escort parked
outside my middle school every afternoon.
You were the loudest clap at my graduation.
You were the sticky caramel corn crumbs in the
living room that held the place together.
You were the laughter
You were the toolkit when my pictures hung crooked.
You were the cornerback baker, the pecan pie maker,
dance recital seat saver and the road trip driver.
You were the puppy-dog pill-giver and the
broken heart mender.
You were the church goer and the goodness seeker.
You were the black-haired teaser and the
very best secret keeper.
You were a prideful wig wearer and
wheelchair rider.
You were a cancer fighter.
You were my first call.
You still are.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 4:43 PM UTC
Theres so much that I notice,
And things that I hear,
I use to be so hopeless,
But now I have no fear,
I seen your picture the other day,
You were in that sun dress,
I can remember thinking,
"Without you I'd be a mess",
That I'd simply fall apart,
That I'd be incomplete,
You name was branded on my heart,
But I just couldn't take the heat,
Its funny looking back,
All the memories we share,
I was ready to make a pact,
It doesn't seem very fair,
I'm not really bitter,
But I haven't totally moved on,
I was your baby and you my sitter,
Its hard to believe that your gone,
I'll still be your friend,
But I must redirect my focus,
And realize its the end,
And let go of all the things I notice.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
The tourists all jostle for a look at the falls
At the point where the water just drops
It goes over the edge, crashing down far below
And then it's all over, it just stops
But, further up river before the falls are in sight
Where the river's hypnotic, dull and oh, so boring
The dark voices are waiting, hiding and calling
This is the place that the powers are storing
Beware the dark voices
They come and they go
They infect your mind
You've heard them, you know
The dark voices are different
But, they always are there
Turn away from their callings
And as always....beware
A dark, gloomy bar on the wrong side of town
Where the waitresses all dance for their tips
A strip joint so defined, but really not so
This is where one's morality slips
A sniff of a perfume, so fragrant yet cheap
Blurs your connection to the ring on your hand
The dark voices are calling, telling you things
Get the waitress and prove you're a man
Beware the dark voices
They come and they go
They infect your mind
You've heard them, you know
The dark voices are different
But, they always are there
Turn away from their callings
And as always....beware
You've returned from a movie, back to your home
You must now take the babysitter back
Your wife stays home waiting for your return
But, with the babysitter you kind of lose track
You see a young body, and a glimpse of her breast
She crosses her legs, but you don't look that far
You share idle chatter, as you flirt like a kid
And you take the girl to the back seat of the car
Beware the dark voices
They come and they go
They infect your mind
You've heard them, you know
The dark voices are different
But, they always are there
Turn away from their callings
And as always....beware
The voices keep coming, just block them out
They feed on your weakness and pain
You have to ignore their pleadings to break down
For nothing good comes of them, there's nothing to gain
Jump in the water, go over the falls
Go with the dancer, surrender your life
Lay down with the baby sitter
Feel the voices twist the knife
Beware the dark voices
They come and they go
They infect your mind
You've heard them, you know
The dark voices are different
But, they always are there
Turn away from their callings
And as always....beware
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
She was a lovely looking thing,
A beautiful young blonde girl/woman
She hadn't been with us long... at
work
She was smart and sassy, even a little
scary
Held strong opinions on some things,
She lived close to where I lived, only
a few miles away
So I was sitting amongst them one
day, the girls/the ladies
They were a little bored that day and
for some sport
Were trying to draw me out, to get me
to open up a little
To reveal some more about my ways
and my life
So I thought I'd have some fun with
them
I told them I did some painting as a
hobby
And that my speciality was 'the
female Nude'
But alas! I had a problem, I had no
one to sit for me
"If only I had some beautiful nymph, some haughty Queen, some dazzling princess", I lamented
And then I'd gaze over at Her, give her
a longing look,
Then of course, someone upped and
said the obvious
" Jen....don't you live close to where he lives, would you not go sit for him "
My face it lit up and I smiled
"No! I would not!!! she said
emphatically, disgusted
Now I knew from the Christmas party
she liked to drink Gin
So I said enticingly "I'll throw in a
few bottles of Gin"
"I'd never pose **** for anyone", she replied again emphatically, "it'd be embarrassing, it'd be degrading! Sitting naked before some man!",
" But ", I replied, " you wouldn't be embarrassed sitting for me
'Cos when I paint a **** I insist on
being in the **** myself as well
So as to make my Sitter feel more at
home, more at ease
Yeah, Me! I'm very... Avant Garde"
(said with a devilish twinkle in my eye)
Still she resisted my painterly
charms
So as to further entice her I said
"I'll even cook you breakfast, no one can resist my lovely sizzling sausages".
I felt as though I'd dangled my carrot
right in her face
But still she wouldn't take the bait.
I suppose I was lucky she hadn't for if
she had of (agreed)
I would have had to have learnt how
to paint Nudes real fast
And how to cook sausages and other
breakfast repast.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 9:38 AM UTC
just living
is a rebellion
the singing and the screaming
collide into one
each day
I work for someone
who I do not know
I give them money every day
because we all have to pay
just for living
the composer turns his hand
he asks for us to stand
and we do
as the sitter is exiled
and the new rules are filed
we look to the stars
a world in denial
to freedom
who’s your father
beg for martyrs
because we all
do nothing
at all
like hermits in a shell
inside the cage
we walk the streets
and work the wage
circles of beings
and tireless days of occurrences
with brand new acquaintances
living just the way
they were yesterday
giving everything
to someone above us
equality irrelevant
I don’t like the smell of it
something’s gone cold
we all grow old
let us all blossom the way we desire
be the pet’s owner
that sets the pet free
look in the eyes
of a soul
and let it be
we will surely be thankful
for all the degrees
a smile and laughter
will come from beneath
take off your role
throw in your sheets
uncover your lost soul
find what you need
powerless fusion of hope
grind your teeth down
do what you please
no stress over spilt milk
we are the meek
don’t open your mouth
simply to speak
say something worthwhile
or silence indeed
waking on pillows
justice to sleep
with a head so heavy
that it is light
and a dance so quick
that it goes something like
rapid melodies drifting
into a time
a time that is new
something that’s right
with wishful thinking
you gain delight
but think or think not
I know what I don’t want to know
it fairs me well
while you fancy the rest
the drill is in the ground
just close your eyes
don’t make a sound
give out a smile
come hang around
because just living
is a rebellion
each day
I work for someone
I don’t even know
I still walk with my feet
for now
even though
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
The tree sitter of Nantucket
Lived in a tree and he dug it
He never went down
To visit the ground
So he would **** in a bucket
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 2:44 PM UTC
**Maybe this is our opportunity to finally see change
we've endured a system archaic and strange
we've watched the world revolve quicker than us
because we are stranded while the rest shift on the wheels of revolution
maybe this is the time you made that resolution
to constantly remind your brother and sister
Father and mother that that position needs a new sitter
maybe this is the time to say enough is enough
however much it instills in you fear, however tough
maybe it's the time we finally say to hell with the past
because like they say to stone nothing is cast**
*and the only thing that doesn't change is change itself
otherwise for how long will one old man exploit our insecurities?
For how long are they going to tell us that change is unsafe
A different time a different king even the monarchs say
what are we saying in our deafening silence today?
maybe this is the time to tell even the most ignorant by the country mile
that only and only a different king will dry their tears and give them a smile
we've been told he's the only man with foresight
come on,how are we to judge the rest without chances
for so long change has been a distant vibration along the threads of time
and opposition to conservatism a crime
maybe it's time for that to change too
and guess who can do that, only me and you*
**maybe it's time to flip the page for this great country to start another chapter
And it doesn't have to be all smooth a flow to happily ever after
Let other dancers step to the podium
and only then can we judge their dances
maybe it's time to another hunter we handed the arrow and bow
maybe now is the time for a different color on the rainbow
It cannot forever be a constant yellow
for even God saw however beautiful they look
the skies shouldn't always bear a sparkling mellow
sometimes the sky is cloudy, orange and most times blue
maybe it's time like I clearly think from my own view
for as a generation we are being denied the opportunity of comparative history**
*what will we tell our children happened to democracy
where did we throw, they'll ask all the resilience and efficacy?
maybe it's time to get back our country from the liberators
who use the same cuffs of the past regimes to manacle this country
and have since grown tall and firmer than palm tree
we have watched them wallow and buzz for so long
but for an idea whose time has come nothing is that strong*
**maybe it's time to save the embezzled donations and every single grant
a time to say confidently "to Hell with the tyrant"
maybe it's a time to be the change we want, the answer to all of our questions
and shove those that think we can't
maybe it's time to go past the roughing waves of conservatism as they whirl
maybe it's time to save our lovely nation
for at the moment, in very wrong hands lies the Pearl.**
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
*I ne'er half thought of you as best
Painted, frozen on canvas, still, set?
Static & unmoving... but I do rest
In my bet you feign'd it. The man Thus, he is as a criminal! If hold he Must you as possession -Beauty's Pageant.
A sun proving to ne'er grow Stagnant.
Go'th then, swept in wind, smooth &
Seminole, with no frame to so seal In
YOUth within his lines -rather reel In
Lines of my rhymes to sustain YOU Ever
Both A's & Q's. No pause, Sure Forever.
Inks & links rather than oils soon Cracked &
Dried out, faded with careless Neglect
And old Time, proving Spell checked
Words, ripen'd on a vine, (freely repro-
Duced,) is better than stretchers 2 show
In one place, wired/hooked on a dim wall
Of your captor. His penchant 2 refuse call,
Or to face, why your smile wert so small.
Unbeknownst to the brushed up painter,
Who with gobbledygook stained your
Heart, but took you as his Sitter bitterly.
So if your Silence art your bitter Mystery,
Then book Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall
As my pen chants only 4u -a wonderwall.*
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
An aesthetic storm settled in the
wee hours of creation.
What of it strikes favor or disfavor?
Beauty's immediacy comes with
fatalistic sweep--demanding
principle, demanding ground.
Unveiled beyond time constraint
all over our world--in praise, in
revulsion, eyes score the gamut.
As if image begs love, to be so...
or unrequited.
What's plain of light exposes all
flaw or beauty in a single sitting.
The sitters vary the material world,
with eyes creation asks us to paint
what we see.
The eyes paint the sitter if the sitter
be deemed beautiful, instantaneously
sight's canvas may be left cold...
burdened.
Beauty aspires to affirmation of being,
to have it echoed.
Beauty's lain raw, holds what's held it--
as such...desolation is easy.
Eyes bespeak their volumes...beautiful
or ugly?
A sightly, unsightly moment given to the perpetual.
Epidemic pageantry--ordered by creation
make due...irregardless.
If beauty--eyes are for you--if ugly...eyes
are not.
Thus...of being, of affirmation, of visible,
of invisible--you...beauty are.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
I is net sitter queen of net
I sit on net and no I am best
I is net sitter practice poem writing
net sitter is me who post and posts
I need to find better way
much better way than net sitting
posting and posting just to post
write poems
write poem
write poems
write poems
is what they say to help me with
bad time and losing job after *** change
now I mess up
now I messed up
poem writing helping me
see what I know
see what I do
write nice poem all the time
is what i need to do.
end of this one.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 7:29 AM UTC
Trip Sitter Poem by Rob Sandman
We’ve all got a friend like this of course,
Istabraq, Seabiscuit the ould warhorse,
Snortin like a whale inhaling at the surface,
Smokes til just lookin’ at them makes your lungs hurt its-
Amazing grace while you’re off your face messed up,
They’re in the corner laughin' - not a hair mussed up,
**Not out of place in the place to be,
The opposite in fact a life saver to see,
Always at your back with a friendly shoulder,
A spliff, skins smokes-well timed glass of water**
Not immune or a ****** just seasoned,
When you’re lost-beyond all reason,
Lost the end of your sentence?-they’ve got it,
a well tuned part in the heart of the party chaotic,
The calm center of the whirlpool, Deadpool-
Quick with a line, not too cuttin’ but nobodies fool,
trip sitter, designated brain at the sesh,
A little OCD maybe, but nonetheless,
We’re all thankful with a full tankful
Its gas havin' a laugh knowin' you can bank full-
Confidence in your mates if you trip,
*But no mercy with the quips, quick! zip your lips
If you’re not in full control of the tongue,
They’ll be followin’ the slips and zip down your lungs
You’re a wounded gazelle on the plains and they’ll lunge,
Like a cheetah once you’ve taken the plunge*
I’m not talkin of only one person of course,
We all take turns as the tour de force-
goes round
**Like a Merry go round sound friends abound
While you’re bewildered the wildebeest takes the crown,
Don’t know about you, but I’m blessed with a few true-
Trip sitters babysitters life fitters diametrically opposed to bullshitters**
*Sideplitters with one liners that leave you gaspin’
For air beyond compare got the grasp and flavor
Best savour the moments-they’re all too few ,
Best friends are saviours who help you pull through,
So lets all give thanks to the big hitters,
Thanks lads and lasses I’m always grateful for me trip sitters!*
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC
Just take a good look at me;
My frame is attractive!
It does the unsated
appetite of the chauvinist
fuel.
My curves and your fantasies
are mutually inclusive!
Without them, dreams
are truncated.
But I am an ********
symbol.
The self opinionated chauvinist
designs me in his sub-conscious
to serve and be utterly subservient.
I am incarcerated as a chef,
and timeless baby sitter.
A baby machine for a
patriarchal dynasty.
My education is a threat to chauvinist ego.
My ignorance hones his misogynist confidence,
whilst my erudite head
retards his self esteem and worth.
The illiterate ******** symbol is his
ideal and virtuous woman.
The smarter and more professional
is the age-old Jezebel.
My chastity and virginity
are twin virtues of a
mutilated genitalia.
My restrained *** urges are
designed for his unrestrained
proclivities and gratification.
I must be restrained,
for him to be unrestrained,
because, share him I must
with two or three others of
my kind.
But take another good look at me,
and see a versatile womb-man!
Translate each prejudice of yours'
and see my remarkable antonyms.
Oct 14, 2023
Oct 14, 2023 at 3:23 PM UTC
When I was young my mother painted the ceiling with every color there was.
She made the falling stucco and sealant into clouds and rainbows and horses;
horses of blue and purple and green.
One time I left my room and stared all night at the stars,
they were so much more vivid.
You couldn't deny their presence,
they were like little beings coming straight toward you.
Didn't need to look up, you could stare straight forward out of the window and it's like they were looking at you too.
But cautious, they never came close enough for me to grab them and trap them in my hand like a rolli-polly.
There were fireflies that loved to gather like tiny self supporting oil lamps by the tree next to our house.
They would swim around me because they knew they were far too clever for me.
There were toadstools that I would kick out of principal and river rocks that were never smooth enough for the current hadn't the will.
Caves where the ivy would circle for no reason but to give me the best hiding place of all time.
We ate snow that one time, when it had snowed for the one time it would in 7 years.
There was a single stoplight in a square of one tiny block where I would get dizzy riding my bike.
Then the Crawfords would let me ride their horse.
That's where I got stung by a bee for the first time and I fell on the red dirt road and cried and cried.
One time a tornado almost swallowed me whole while my trailer baby-sitter wasn't looking.
I remember asking with all sincerity for the third time how to spell cat.
Lolly-pops adorned the daycare where I watched trolls singing Kokomo.
These are all the good things I can remember,
so I cherish them.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
so here I sit alone in our apartment
while he is in his childhood town, cleaning out his dads
cleaning out the drunken chaos and the remains of a life
and tries to air out the smell of death
he is forced to clean out the remains of
a periodic alcoholic's liqour soaked period which ended in the definite end of it all
i'm stuck at work while he is forced to run to the funeral agency, the bank
and an apartment whose walls could tell a story
that would make the ancient greeks' tragedies fade in comparison
he is forced to clean up after his absent dads' death,
a dad who was never there, whose resumé not only includes
the leaving of a son, but also the leaving of life,
all this while i'm looking for washing machines online
//
så här sitter jag ensam i vår lägenhet,
medan han är i barndomsstaden och rensar ur sin pappas
städar bort fyllekaoset och resterna av ett liv
och försöker vädra ut lukten av död
han tvingas städa bort resterna av
en periodares alkohol-indränkta period som slutade i det slutliga slutet på allt
jag är fast på jobbet när han tvingas springa till begravningsbyrån, banken
och en lägenhet vars väggar skulle kunna berätta en historia
som skulle få de gamla grekernas tragedier att blekna i jämförelse
han tvingas städa upp efter sin frånvarande pappas död,
en pappa som aldrig var där, vars cv inte bara innefattar
ett lämnande av en son, utan också lämnandet av ett liv
medans jag letar tvättmaskiner på nätet
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
I am a sitter at windows, said Lucia;
I am a thinker of sad thoughts, a gazer
at stars and moon and the bright hot
afternoon sun. My thoughts taunt me
like bullying children, they repeat
words and images and strings of verbal
abuse like repetitive ***** I sit at
the window with folded arms, my ***
numb on the window ledge, my eyes
peering through the netted curtains,
taking in the sights, the people, the cats
and dogs, the cars and buses, the odd
cyclists, the women pushing prams,
children crying at the side. I see and
know my childhood ghosts, the locked
doors, the no supper nights, the starving
rumblings of an empty stomach, words
bellowed through the doors by angry
parents. I am one who stares from windows,
one who snoops through netted curtains,
taking in the sights, hearing imperfectly
the outer sounds, the stolen kisses and hugs
from teenage loves, the backyards fondles,
*** on the cheap, lives, loves, kisses and
holds. I see new moons, quarter moons,
half moons and full moons and the lunatic
surge pulls me in and pushes me out, my
moods change like the waves of the sea,
the deeps drowning me in depression,
the black dog’s bark, thoughts of death
in a bath, slit wrists, over doses, hanging
behind a bathroom door like mother had,
eyes popping, tongue protruding. I think
of past loves, dream of what might have
been, the boys who came and went, the
ones who stayed and spoiled, the girls who
stayed the night for sensual *** or schoolgirl
kisses, of visits to an asylum before mother’s
demise, the locked doors, the cruel cries and
lunatic laughter, the odd looking staff, the eyes,
the tongues, the finger gestures from closing
doors. I see the work of the gods in my daily
stares, the passing people on their way to death
or work or love or indecent *** with another’s
love, or a child innocent as a flower’s bud
plucked and pulled and brain washed by an
adult hand and tongue. I am one who sees
what’s come to an end and what’s sadly begun.
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
When did I become so bitter?
Used to be the guy seeing a bag and pick up the litter,
now I watch it blow by,
less of a smile and more of a sigh,
my kid, my teenage self would never want to be this guy,
singing loudly used to be a habit,
now I just write sad poems on a laptop or tablet,
not the type you come to,
because all my colors are gone cept for blue,
what happened to you?
when did I become so sad?
instead of always seeing good,
now its just all bad,
not optimistic nor real,
just writing to make me feel,
but it doesnt help like i need it,
I used to finish a poem and sigh off the ****
but now I'm consumed bit by bit,
by this world,
by my life,
by my past,
used to smile while finishing last,
dreaming was a hobby and I would want to sleep,
now I run away from dreams and stay awake till the alarm goes beep
when did I get so bitter?
used to take care of drunk friends like a sitter,
now the days are gone and I'm drinking alone,
waiting by the phone,
but not answering the call,
I used to see girls and feel my heart stall,
and smile when they looked my way,
now their eyes look and say,
what happened to you?
Why am I so bitter?
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
I am the burner of bridges,
Said Bridget, the smoker of
Cigarettes who lies and stares
At the passing day. My childhood
Follows me like a shadow’s dark;
Its ghostly presence is always there,
Its non wise words echoing in my
Ear. I sleep with men for the lost
love, kiss them in the search for
my lost mother’s warmth, hug them
In the lonely hours. My dead babies
Cling to my legs, their tiny fingers
Clutch at my dress as I walk along;
Their eyes look up like lamps in the
Still night. I am the aborter of babes,
The owner of a useless womb; I push
Out stillborns like a factory, give birth
To a form but not to life; I am anyone’s
Woman, any man’s wife, I lay and gaze
At the moon, I watch smoke rise from
My cigarette, it forms rings as father did,
The smoke curling and rising with his
Phantom presence there in room, the
Ghostly cigarette hanging from his lips.
I have searched for God in the blackness
Of night, sought His love in the arms of men,
Awaited His coming in the winter’s wind;
His love is there, but I do not see, His arms
Caress, but I do not feel; I am alone still.
I am the walker of cities, the sitter in lone
Cafes, the easy ride, the fuckable dame;
I wear the badge of kiss me quick or leave
Me never. I am the sleeper of nights in a
Musty bed; see dead babies in heart and head.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 7:31 AM UTC
***** girls, with tight short skirts,
sand in the eyes—the colour of dirt; employed
by the moon, and doing the night work.
Quivering in the cold, like skeletons out of their
closet—to act as if you don't know their prices.
But it's quite obvious!
The alleyways smell of **** the club scene of
turning a blind eye to your number of drinks.
Charismatic ill gentleman, with their casual winks;
its the end of the week. As the troublemakers parading
the street.
The performance of the local band, guitar, drums,
keyboard, bass, and of course a mic at hand.
A breathalyzer for an asthma attack, to break the pressure
in awkward conversations with the rude jokes to crack.
Lap dances in the centre room; a long key looking for the
right lock. The goal of every man to score by their crotch.
Lest he has the *****
Perfumed necks, and high cleavage vests, to show off
some perky ******* Tightly tuned hair—linear
of a piece of linen wrapped in good and neat care.
There's barely enough chairs; so sip a little while
looking around for a seat. And don't be too shy to move
your feet. But watch your step, least not to bump into a stranger,
and disturbing the chaotic night's peace.
Taste a little bit of love; in their cup under the
lasting lust of every fallen star. Take some company
back home, stuffed in a six sitter car.
As we watched a day end—watching another rise by
the time of that great Morningstar. To describe a night
they hope never ends. So by the next week, we'll be doing
it all again.
Sep 17, 2022
Sep 17, 2022 at 3:29 PM UTC
*God, who can tell me the difference? as if
I even care about the difference, I know because I feel
The difference, I can feel it, life is so real
Because what difference, does it all matter…? What? What can
Be the reason for a difference, when there can’t be any difference
In me. It is there, I mean, I can see it, smell it,
The Doctors told me it is there, and now I cannot see the difference
In whether or not, I **** well take it, smoke it, drink it,
Hell at the difference! I will not be any different except happy, except
Sliding down the path of feeling good, even though for a short time,
Even though for anytime, what difference is there anyway, does it, will it all make?*
(an easy feeling of sliding, so downward, so fast, falls on me, falls
like the head of a pin, looks up and sees me, as it feels so **** good
with just a glimpse of lakeshore looking backward, over my shoulder
as I sit here. no television. the sound blaring. and it is off. and the window
is down, and I am riding. in the car that is not there. better off. the distance
looks crowded, and feels so pretty and nice. and life is mine and there are things
that make me look. this way. then that. and make it all blow the dust off
and leave. me here. crying and feeling your arms. while your gone. and feeling
her arms wrapped around me, and knowing that she will likely *****
and moan and gripe, but who cares because now it is gone,.and an extra two
on top of two. and that makes four, god it makes four. makes four. makes four…)
** Who can tell what sleep I have had, nothing no more than a minutes sleep
Is why my hair looks the way it does, and make-up is not made up and
The sleepy feeling grabbed me strong and put these jeans upon my body
And they are mine, they fit, I swear, and the sweater fits too, it is not his it is mine
Besides, I feel like hell and death have run together and have clouded me,
And taken away my judgment, and left me here alone, can you see me?
I know it, I know it, it makes sense as dogs make sense to lying in the grass
And birds make sense playing in the limbs, and as I make sense, making sense
Of the feelings that are lost to me now, and please, please, please, I do not
Need the sitter, or someone watching me, or watching me die, please
I just need something, a little thing, a little more, just a little more.**
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 11:12 PM UTC