"slingshot" poems
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds
Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws
There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view
Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling
Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog
I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place
Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna **** their souls I wanna **** them good
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
Stardust dusted across your cheeks
Light brown ones, hard to see
The sun peaks
The warmth of the sun in your embrace
Your gravity is keeping me down
Unfamiliar space
Are you the milky way?
Am I the lonely astronaut?
Led astray
You are making my head spin
I am no moon, this isn't love
I can still taste the gin
From Mercury to Neptune the colors are all there
And time goes by, measure it by light years
Just stare
Sort of a single slingshot gravity
Keeps me from shooting further away.
The beauty, over your capacity
If the whole galaxy was in front of you,
would you come near it? Could you?
** When you are only allowed to enjoy the view **
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
Master the art of
Flipping your L's (losses) into lessons
Because more often than not,
They are disguised blessings
If they sort of set you back
It's for you to bounce back
Like a catapult or slingshot (or Big Sean)
But never lose sight of your mission
The flying beautiful butterfly
Once crawled as a caterpillar
Think about the trees,
They never give up during the wintry days
They only shed their leaves
(For humans, drop the extra baggages)
But trees bounce back during spring
Sometimes, you just gotta
Take a deep breadth
And exhale peace
Ensure to keep breathing
And you'll sure get back on your feet
Calm the nerves,
Take a deep sleep
But don't sleep in the deep
You didn't fail
You only found ways that would not work
Credit to the man that invented the lightbulb
Take the blows but get back up
Very soon, the hardwork will pay off
Put in more work
And relent not
Naysayers will always talk
Don't be discouraged to put in work
Your success will soon prove them wrong
There is light at the end of the tunnel
As there is light within your spirit
Flick it on
And you'll be on a winning spree
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 10:49 PM UTC
On starlight road.
Blue neon star sign blinks.
On my way out of this world.
Off a cliff and slingshot past the moon.
On the other side of the twilight.
I meet with you.
We walk the bridge of shadows.
Over the river of light.
Tomorrow songs.
Played on yesterday's light strings.
Lyrics of time.
And melodies of dreams.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
You have these helium balloon pair of arms, that always tend to lift me up when I fall.
You raised me as part slingshot and part boomerang and no matter how far I go in life I’ll still return home.
You've taught me that we are all keys, and if I don't fit in then I wasn't made for what’s behind that door.
Sometimes, I spend too long at some doors. And I break my edges trying to fit in, till I can never open the doors for which I was made anymore.
Some days, your lessons are like the edges of a jigsaw puzzle, they’re the starting points to fix me when I’m a mess.
Your smile reminds the super glued, ice sculpture in my chest what it feels like to be warm.
I come from a long line of glass spines and barbwire teeth and my back was as bad as my bite. But you've taught me to carry the world on my shoulders and kiss Mary Jane on the cheeks.
I see the Irony of the cobwebs on your letters.
It’s not so funny when it’s on your head stone.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
Delicious midnight,
kyanite and citrine crystal bells buzz
& haummm....
Piano notes dance around the room,
some sing silent eurythmy patterns.
An amalgam of pinball gypsy
time travelers colliding--
the timing couldn't have been more perfect
as we rest in the sacred loft
under the metallic ear.
Full Flower Moon
whispers persimmon kisses at 2am.
Here we rest,
a space for the timeless animals,
wounded healers,
soldiers of peace
all seeking a brief respite....
collecting energetic auric heart fire fuel
before we slingshot off in our kaleidoscopic time machines,
candles navigating to the darkest reaches
of outer and inner space.
Here, fear dissolves....
Here, light evolves....
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
I close my eyes
Silently I listen
A voice that's vanished
That will sound forever
The voice that will always slingshot
The poetic words
Of the nightingale
Into the world
For a second I start to dream
I forget
What I saw
When my eyes were still open
Ik sluit mijn ogen
Zwijgend luister ik
Een stem die is weggestorven
Die voor eeuwig zal klinken
De stem die voor altijd
De poëtische woorden
Van de zanger
De lucht inslingerd
Even droom ik weg
Vergeet ik
Wat ik zag
Toen mijn ogen nog open waren
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
the mockingbird is four yards in front of me.
it is 5:47pm.
it is just barely December,
but already my heart has frozen.
i am no longer able to turn the great wheel of the stars.
i am but a fragile stem on a withered rose.
the old grandfather of winter has come to live in my heart.
night has wearied my bones.
the mockingbird is perched low on a cushion of oak moss.
he is taunting his feathers the way mockingbirds do.
he is basking in the sun.
he is wearing a beautiful coat of indulgence.
he is twitching his tail and quickly bobbing his neck.
he is deflecting and dodging and eating flies out of the air.
i decided to take aim.
i have no rhyme or reason.
i have a slingshot.
i flex the rubberband once for tension and twice for luck.
the bird sees no evil intent in me, nor i in it.
i place a single devil's eye marble into a warm leather home.
mr. mockingbird is surely mocking me.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
His finger fidgeted with the small hole in his jeans
Right above the left knee
It caressed the rust of a healing scab
He knew boyhood was sitting at the tense end of a slingshot
While balancing on a thin branch
Creeping in through the window
Of his tree house
His shins were permanently bruised
From hitting the edge of the bed
After jumping and missing
In order to avoid whatever may be living underneath it
Ten years from now he will regret
Not being in enough family photos
And for placing too many boxes full of old clothes
Underneath his bed
For anything to truly live there
He will know manhood sitting at a red light
Begging the breaks to go out
So his only option will be
To go
When he is old
And so much a baby again
He will beg time to be patient
Long enough to understand
Why when he was a boy
The slingshot band never broke from the tension
Before releasing rocks to break windows
He had to spend the summers working off
But as a man
Trapped at a red light
Why not once
The breaks ever went out
So that he might have an excuse
To go
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 6:44 AM UTC
i am just an 8 year old boy
dressed up in church clothes
grass stains on knees, of course
food stains on tie and shoulders, of course
in 1998
you are my 9 year old sister
and i am sitting in a live oak tree
with a slingshot
and a shit-eating grin
against a cheekful of
big chew bubblegum
and you're gossiping
with your friends
you are wearing a
likely sundress
and a necklace that
i will eventually pawn
for 50 dollars
i snuck out
of grown-up church
15 minutes early
i hid the slingshot
here last night
i spent yesterday before
anyone was awake before
the sun had unleashed
her magic on the sky
sharpening my vision
perfecting my aim
feeling the shot
i did 45 jumping jacks
like in phys ed class
and i knew why
i had done these things
it's because i'm jealous
it's because you're perfect
it's because you love me
even when i don't deserve it
it's because you're beautiful
and everyone knows it
it's because i love you too
even though i rarely show it
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
If heaven wasn't so far away
If I could drive there in just one day
I'd pack my car and get there fast
Or fly there with a rocket blast
Thank my God for hearing this plea
And for letting your eternal soul go free
I'd fight a thousand armies
to a win a raging war
Or paddle against the currents
with just a canoe
if I only had one oar
Defending all your beauty
and the light you gave us here
I am not too far,
my heart is always near
I'd walk a thousand miles
just in my barest feet
Or hire a passing, ghostly shipping fleet
and watch the troops of demons to their
grievous quick retreat
I would walk through the hottest fires
of a crazy burning hell
Or surf the oceans fastest, highest
waiter, water swell
I'd slingshot through the stars
Or float up on a bardge
Just ask the Man in Charge
I'm' waiting for the call
to bring you home again
I'm waiting here for you
back here ...
back in
your earthly Glen.
Cherie Nolan © June 2016
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
Part 4
When we last left poor Agnes
In her attic all alone
She couldn’t find her way back down,
And she had no telephone.
No light switch and no stairway
She couldn’t find the hall
The elevator disappeared
(It had sunk into the floor)
And to make her situation worse,
She couldn’t find the door!
But Agnes McDuff was pretty tough;
She didn’t mess around
She thought of stuff that she could use
To help her get back down.
First she lit the candlesticks
So she would have some light -
For an attic with no window
Is black as darkest night.
With candlelight, she now could see;
She dumped the clothes from all the boxes,
Put the boxes on the table,
Next she stacked the wooden blocks.
She found some nails and a hammer
In her Grandma’s toolbox.
She nailed it all together
And on top she nailed the chairs
Now Agnes had a set of crazy, crooked
Homemade stairs!
Agnes went back to the toolbox,
She saw a saw was there,
She carried it very carefully
As she climbed the crazy stair.
Now you might have a feeling
Of what she was going to do
Yes, she climbed up to the ceiling, and
Used the saw to cut right through!
She climbed back down and looked around
Found the rubber bands and string
Added several woolen socks
And made a giant sling!
She rummaged through the dumped out clothes
Found a wedding dress and suit
And with the needle and the spool of thread
Made a great big parachute!
She hooked the parachute to the bicycle
(The one without a spoke)
And tied the back wheel to the tuba
And that was NOT a joke.
The tuba was quite heavy
So it kept the bike at rest
Once again climbed up the crazy stair
And performed the final test.
She nailed both ends of the slingshot
Around the opening she’d sawn
Hooked the sling around the bicycle
Moved the stair, and then got on.
Somehow the clock was working!
It was ringing Three, Two, One
And just as Agnes cut the tie she thought
Boy! This could be FUN!
The slingshot worked!
Shot Agnes out, on the bike, way up into the sky,
And she looked around in wonder thought,
Boy! I’ve never been this high!
She went up a mile or so
Before she dared look down
She saw the long suspension bridge
And the other parts of town.
She saw the entrance to the tunnel
(The rest was under ground)
She saw the roundhouse and the avenue
The park and then the lake
Finally, she saw her house
There was no mistake!
So she deployed the parachute
And gently she descended
And this is where the story
Of Agnes Attic should have ended.
She walked up to the doorway
Turned the handle, now you see?
The door was locked from the inside,
Agnes McDuff forgot the key!
PwL May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Eccentric inclination
Chaos, my middle name
Gyrating UFOs
Planted in your brain
In your blood
There’s an end
Start planning your last supper
Remember the good sins
Glitch in the system
Worldlets of curls
Ringlets of worlds
Galactic slingshot
Cluster-fuck of have-nots
Xylophone snow
Planet xoxo
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
the dregs of your spotted smiles somersaulted in an elegant arc
fell in helpless array and landed nine planets away from my feet
and something slightly old still feeds my anger at your impatience
I forage through my grace to keep my tongue from spilling mess
and my heart feels all squiggly as I sneeze my way to your mocking silence
I gladly offer sweet indulgence while you openly despise my faults
I forage through my fantasies, not wishing to appear so trivial
lesions swell on the plastic head of revulsion
let not depression eat at your sweet magical pulse
still strongly beating in the sometimes sepulchral coffers of life
scorn not the honey bee buzzing or the hummingbird flitting
embrace the nuisance of calamity
for it helps along the way
to make vigorous the spirit
to wedge a cardiac space in place of pillowcase full of stones
where giants sleep in silent meadows across the land
sensing no sharp slingshot from no nifty bottle legged creature
and disappearing into the thicket would be the right time
on a heavy back, a child carries a burden made of toxic crayons
to melt away the awful prejudice of its forbears; undo the chains
the bringer of rain stands alone in a puddle, or is it a lake?
are YOU awake?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
The sensation,
sensuous.
Incarnations ,
*remember
us?*
Carved on cave walls &
sung on birds beak
in gliding flight
from past
slingshot
through to the future,
falling into a deeper than seen river ,
of now
serpentine bodies ,
flex
tense,
flex our god/ess
muscles to learn & teach
of the
forgotten
apple of knowledge.
Carnal sin is
redemption.
The real question is..
Who were the Snakes?
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
danke, und scheiße geruch um beachten! (if ungrammatical then ensure you do not waver to correct me, but speak as correctly as possible and leave me to my insolence and gratify my mistake as championing your correctness, at least thus i'll be glad to make you see what i too wanted to see with my imperfection the suggestive).
western society has taught me
that i'd be better off
not having educated myself -
and that reading philosophical
books is considered a mental illness;
such heightened literacy rates
i almost clamour to buckle
in marking journalism a synonym of propaganda.
no, of course i'm not happy where
i live, i what's deemed a civilisation or
an exportable social model,
a place where you say the word Kierkegaard
and people think you've said gonorrhea,
so the French kiss outlasts oral *** -
tongue here, tongue there, tongue up your ***
you're a credible ****** should it matter,
while all the menial tasks for the unruly
have been exported to made in China -
i ****** Poland for ever wanting to join
the E.U., thank god they didn't adopt the failed
Euro currency - the diversity of the project
would always fail - no slingshot Indians
or bow & arrow akin mattered
when the other Indians gave us the Taj Mahal...
wise too i would be as an Ewok... and a Vindaloo...
wait a minute, why am i writing
like a reformist coloniser? i've been duped!
i learn the english tongue i suddenly
become nothing less than a coloniser myself;
might as well be a viking in york
or a norman at the battle of Hastings!
otherwise i'm a concubine on a mechanised
dildo-throne while the irish are Yuppie
with psychos of american Wolf St. scenarios
awaiting the 1980s discography of
a lucid John Peel commentary.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
in 2028 we will have a space station circling mars
i have never felt something rattle me so deeply through my heart
my bones will not stop trembling when i look to the stars
i can not stop the twitching in my toes telling me to go
i always threw out “astronaut” as a dream of a dream
something there but always out of reach
but now i know that i can touch down before i’m in my mid-thirties
i see the full moon and i can’t stop the shaking
send me home
send me home
send me home
a teacher asked me if, given the opportunity
would i take a one-way ticket off-planet,
and never look back?
and i laughed
and i told him
mars is not far enough away from earth
send me to saturn and pluto and tie me to halley
i am ready to touch other stars
i love the sun but she is not my Sun
i love the moon but she is not my Moon
i have been sick of earth since i knew that i could be
send me on missions to put it all behind me
“what about your family”
what about anybody?
what about anybody?
i don’t want to be alone in the cold of space
i want to find something out there that might be companionable to the human race
i want to go home
i want to go home
i’m not sure how far that will take me
and i’m not sure how far past it will be from mars
but i know that getting up there will be the hardest part
lift-off
houston, we’ve got a problem
i don’t have enough rocket fuel to get out of this solar system
let’s use a gravitational slingshot to throw me out of orbit
i’ll love earth when she is the little blue dot on a map of the stars
andromeda holds my heart
send me to mars
send me to mars
let me return to the red of my heart
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
Looking back on it now,
after the wars & the peace & the wars,
I wish I'd never met you.
Imagine what your life would have been like:
you would have finished graduate school
and gotten a cushy job at a large bank
and worn those **** office suits of secretaries
that show just enough cleavage to make
the boss wish he had more ******
and your sales for the quarter would have
skyrocketed like a smooth stone
fired from a slingshot and you would be
as happy and content as you were
in the age of innocence,
And you would pass the field
where I lay sometimes on your way to work, staring
at the seas on the moon-wondering
why they look like closed eyes-
But alas,
-things didn't work as planned.
We met and fought and made peace
and now we spend our nights together
in that lonely field,
staring at the face of the moon,
eternally wondering why He
doesn't smile back.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
Little boy Cain finds daddy’s old straightedge
Cracked leather band, wipes the blade on his thigh
Little boy stalks ‘round, slingshot in the sedge
Soft stinging cheeks, striped where bloodlines dry
Little boy breaks ice, cold winter this year
Big brother chops ash with numb hands out back
Little cat hunts mice while the dogs chase deer
One last hammer lash, then leave duties slack
Little boys grow up too soon, mother knows
Brother lain face down by the cutting wedge
Little white-furred pup, matted crimson nose
On the icy ground left in need of sledge
Little too late now for the morning chores
Cries upon his knee, curled by reddened bed
Little boy, head bowed, listens from the floor
Brother, bury me where the raven treads
Brother, forgive me, curse the wanton gods
Now, I walk alone through this land of Nod
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:29 PM UTC
A Simple Walkway
By this device just an old ordinary taken for granted side walk there is no place it doesn’t lead
Hops scotch any one key skates on your shoes how they let you zoom oh the prints left there
A bike for Christmas feel daddy’s strong hands hear his feet running to keep up ever feel so freed
Remember when you were there playing mother walked by her perfume caused womanly fantasies
Up town on Saturday shopping day take the sidewalk get a haircut one two Jims the other to Dressings
Montgomery wards that great wide white stair way sports one floor clothes on the other
Get dolls toy guns all kind of assorted toys at Ben Franklin if not there find Woolworth’s full blessings
Whatever, hurry you know the Roseland will be starting the afternoon matinee action packed thrills
Live out the movies Carl Wessel Western Auto arrows fifty cents Coast to Coast BB guns
Can’t afford a bow take a mop stick and cut an inner tube into a strip nail on both ends watch her fly
If you’re not allowed to have even an air rifle use more inner tube a forked stick wa la slingshot what fun
Grocery shopping great on second St Piggly Wiggly or Wempen’s on the alley up from Bryson’s garage
Need shoes Summer’s store or Duez get a pair of Buster Browns this follow the side walk your welcome
If you just need a repair Ray does fine work Pen well’s store has all the dresses guaranteed no guessing
Hustle and bustle going on all over town activity nonstop great foot traffic go to town the past will come
You will stir up endless memories in this new time that could use those sweet happy times at the five
and Dime
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
I see you.
I see myself in you.
I see not the facade that you set like a mask upon your pale face
or the strings tied at your wrists, pulling your arms every which way
or your pain trailing behind you like a black cloud, thunder cracking, as a smile stays
your present is my past
i know you.
Our veins are corded rubber bands that stretch from our arms,
around our backs through every checkpoint joint in our bodies,
they slingshot feelings throughout
so that not only will our brain feel the hurt but everything else too.
We are every single broken person thats searching through the rubble of their own mistakes, hands bleeding, praying for shards of their splintered heart to appear
i am therefore you are and vice versa
im aware of the struggle you go through
that unbelievability that you can swing your legs from your bed and make it through the day
i am conscious of the crippling insecurity,
the four walled prison that you built yourself
the bars, stronger than anything even superman could bend, that are made of the insults that have been muttered
I identify with the confusion with which you feel lost
you don't know who you are
when you lean your head back and subconsciously search the starry night sky for your meaning
I'm there
I am you, and you are me
in a simple merge we are one
it has always been this way
and it always will be
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
“Little Lover” by AC/DC blasts over crackling speakers.
Cracks in the road assist my flat tire
in softly, yet steadily
pulling me off course to the left.
Rocks roll down dirt banks into clean spring rivers,
motorhomes full of smiling faces go the opposite direction
in no rush
until they slingshot past as we pass.
I nod at humble well-kept country abodes as my prototypical
small-town family dream fades with the sun behind the Kootaney mountains - I bid Farewell.
I bid farewell,
to my home & motorhomes
to similes & metaphors
to rocks that roll
and to the little love
I’ve shared with only
who I want when I want to.
“She shook me all night long” begins to play as my nighttime drive finishes.
One day baby, my life will play out intense as any AC/DC ****** innuendo…
but it’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock n’ roll.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
I don't write uplifting words
my poems are stones I throw at the soaring birds
Because I'm jealous
Yearning to get that high and it makes me rebellious
All I want is a friend
But y'all just pretend
I invite you to a home
Love you just like kin
And what do I get in return
A back stab and a burn
But just wait
Just wait youll get yo turn
Think one day you'll learn
That what you get is what you earn
What you dish
Is what you fish
What you leave
Is what you receive
Then one day we can try again
You can try to accompany me
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 11:58 AM UTC
each
downward ******
of the
mighty eagle's wings
catapulted upward bound
slingshot forward
without
a sound
uplifted
towards
these
higher ground
above
the clouds
an eagle's view of the world
i sing out loud
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC