"specials" poems
*she dragged me out of the house
knowing i was feeling down
not allowing me to wallow
in my self pity,
she dressed me,
painted my face
fashioned my hair,
that’s my girl friend
at Juliana’s,
small family owned Italian restaurant,
a gem of a find, she said,
Lorenzo, greeted her with familiarity
(she leaves a memorable impression)
she introduced me as her bestie
with a twinkle in her eye
young (as all under 30 people are to me)
handsome, dark thick curly haired,
with dancing eyes,
a serving towel over his left arm
nodded with a genuine smile
i smiled back despite my mood
wine was swirled, smelled,
sampled and selected
a captivating performance,
executed expertly
she watched me
watching him
describe the specials
with a melodic Italian accent
transforming my mood
garlic knots wafting with his stride,
placed on the table
with a small bowl of marinara sauce
still hovering
in his long lean fingers
it slipped,
splattering red stain
on the pristine white cloth
without skipping a beat
his eyes poured into mine
words emerged
“forgive me, your beauty made me nervous”*
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
Beat-Up Old Car
Vastly under-appreciated possession
In dull blue, a MK1, no less, with original rust
Inside lingering scents of Exchange and Mart
top-notes of WD-40 and miscellaneous mix tapes
A car like this gets into your life
in lumpy knuckle-barking unsubtle ways,
stays there in subtle ones
That long drive back to Yorkshire
in the quintessential exemplar
Clutch cable snaps.
****** and Crap.
Hardly helpful but can be accommodated
with enough thought
rough though it is
on starter motor
and nerves whenever
anticipatory powers inadequate
and we are forced
to a complete red-light stop
Brakes dodgier, exhaust noisier
than ideal or legal
Gender-ambiguous
elderly tyres flirt outrageously with slick tarmac
Showing their canvas underwear
and male-pattern baldness
Keeping this unstable, unsafe, unreliable
ultimately essential lump of metal
moving and on the road
is a fine art
Engaging, fluid and intense art;
The Clash and The Specials
Costello and The Cure in support
A distraction then
getting hauled over by plod
somewhere near Bury St. Edmunds
Thatcher's boys.
Tax? MoT? Insurance? ID?
No real interest shown
Any passengers in the back?
Clearly no. Pickets?
Pickets? What?
Please open the boot sir... Oh.
On your way lad. Drive carefully
I was, officer, I was
More than you will ever know
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
Christmas countdown has begun and family members are on the run
Looking for the bargains everywhere, and how they get it they don’t care.
All the retailers have put up their displays
As they prepare for Christmas day.
Grocery stores and supermarkets with their specials on the floor
And in every aisle there are treats galore.
Turkeys and hams, candied yams too- all the treats just for you.
Department stores and shopping malls- filled with shoppers wall to wall.
The children are in total awe as they look from store to store.
And every new item that’s on TV. In the stores for them to see.
Yes! The Christmas countdown has begun. And the children
Are preparing for the fun, from bicycles and dolls and all the rest
Knowing they’ve gotten all the best.
Look around; look around, the Christmas spirit is all around.
MERY CHRISTMAS TO ONE AND ALL, THIS IS THE SEASON TO HAVE A BALL!
©L.RAMS 112214
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
ENLIGHTENED
I feel empowered..I'm here to love on me..
here to support me.
yes
love on some me..
so
after seeing how others will take me for granted.
take my sweet gentle nature and ignore it.
fail to appreciate it.
Hurt and abuse me
My time I give my attention I give.
Others may play the games of neglect with me.
After I bring the positivity.
My sunshine my smooth uplifting gift.
I've adopted a better spiritual outlook.
Not goin to lay my pearls at their foot.
My love don't belong on the ground.
To be kicked all around.
Nah nah nah no!
I'm going to say the things I've failed to let flow.
I'm going to release my tongue..
Building up my self esteem a useful weapon.
Its about me keeping going, not being injured by the tragic done.
Stop others from trappling my precious rose petals.
I realize the gift in me, some will not get my specials.
I'm seeking to stay focused.
and enlightened, Aware of my spiritual.
As the purest forms of me unfolds.
By selinasharday
S.A.M 2018
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
free internet 24-hour
Johnny Cash radio station
-all day long
the general listens-
plasma tv on the wall
silent bombs in Gaza
orange blossom specials
-they need plasma, don't they-
burn, burn, burn
-Cry, Cry, Cry-
r ~ 7/29/14
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC
If you drive down route 235,
the lonely parallel line of route 5,
running through St. Mary's County, Maryland,
between the intersection of Old Three Notch road
and St. Andrew's Church road,
and the liquor store at the corner of Mattapany--
you must do so with a fat wallet,
and a growling stomach,
who barks at the flashing signs
of the sparkling chain restaurants--
wafting their familiar scents out the windows
and onto the busy street.
Utterly beleaguered every which way by these olfactory factories,
your mouth waters and your wallet lightens
as the tantalizing sensations
permeate your vehicle.
So you cave;
another lost soul vacates the street at Restaurant Alley,
under the prowling searchlights
and the intoxicating smells lingering like a dense fog;
You linger in your purgatory with glee.
You exit satisfied, patting your abdominous belly
and lifting your smiling face to the sky
in thanks to the gluttonous gods
who rain down these chain restaurants
from the heavens.
A satisfied sigh seeps out of loose lips,
barely hanging on to your fleshy face,
so ruddy and fat.
You act like your stop was something novel,
like it wasn't routine to acquiesce to these temptations;
you return to your car to continue your roamings
down restaurant alley.
Sadly, a full stomach won't stifle a querying nose,
and your senses are soon at it again;
just as the waiters and waitresses,
cooks and busboys--
are back at the window, leaning outside
with their clamorings and bustlings and cookings--
You pretend to entertain willpower as your copilot,
but even if that were so,
your senses would still be at the wheel,
with your mind bound and gagged in the trunk.
Restaurant Alley goes on for miles and miles and miles,
seemingly endless in the permeating fog of
burgers and pancakes and pasta and chicken and fries and burgers and soda and ice cream and beer and pasta and wine and America and pancakes and steak and appetizers and desserts and entrees and specials and kids menus and burgers and chicken and pasta and fries and burgers and ice cream and salad and burgers and soda and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat!
There's nothing to eat;
there's nothing to do but eat in Restaurant Alley,
on route 235 in St. Mary's County, Maryland.
So fasten your seat belt,
and loosen your waist belt,
and take a doomed trip down the endless roadway--
where you are dragged, shackled to food chains
that haul you from the perdition that is the lobby's waiting room
to be seated with loved ones at the mercy seat of Ambrosia.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
Ads for Christmas specials
Litter magazines and such
Oooh another Christmas Carol
Tiny Tim has a new crutch
A Christmas Story musical
The Rockettes on TV
I'd rather watch old re-runs
Of Andy Williams 'neath the tree
The stores are stocked, the lights are bright
There's tinsel everywhere
There's Romney and Obama Christmas tags
I mean is this really fair?
There's Kingdom of Thrones nativities
And guess who plays the baby
There' s something wrong inherently
When you stop to buy it...maybe.
Christmas got away from us
It's more commercial than I've seen
There's more crap on the shelves these days
Than there is at Hallowee'n
It's only just September
and I'm already done in
by my Christmas Season overload
I can't believe the state I'm in
What happened to Goodwill to Men
And Seasons Greetings at the mall
They've been replaced by anger
And gift cards that are given out by all
This year I have decided
to change how I celebrate this silly thing
I'm going home to bed right now
And I will Hibernate till spring !!!
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
The Gods are money sound these days.
and priests have marketing degrees -
The faithful, called to worship
by giant plasma screens,
in mega-shopping sanctuaries
selling salvation through merchandising.
At the Church of Holy Consumption
all denominations are welcome –
hundreds, twenties, tens.
All the hymns are sung by Muzak -
the readings daily specials.
A sister spritzes us with holy essence
(The bottle's 40 bucks an ounce).
Leave your offerings at the till -
major credit cards accepted.
When worship time is up,
sign the dollar across your chest
and bend a knee to the talking head
cooing soothing benedictions,
“Go in Peace, my child. You’re worth it.”
January, 2007
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
this ain't no art, man,
this is just a careless whisper
this is just George Michael
singing in your stereo
this is just your bourgeois-blues
this is merely a bewilderment
this is not the art, you know it,
you ******
you ****
you chronic masturbator
you who dare to write on the internet
dancing with yo papa' shoes
and in yo mama' lingerie
ah, look at yourself, a human miracle
Angel of a foreign Harlem,
you who wasted all away,
speaking in foreign tongues
inside the thighs of a british stripper,
you idiot
you *****
and when i'm done i'll come for you,
like a ****
like a dog
sniffin' and slidin' in your park
in your ***** trailer park
there with your fat-fuck-husband
stalkin' yo every move
you *****
you ****
and when i'm done i'll look for you,
simple as that
simple as an Einstein formula
served to you on exotic dishes
by Norma from Twin Peaks,
cars for the missus and furs for the mistress
and when you'll die you'll ****
between all your champagne wishes
and it'll be ******* ridiculous.
But that's life, babe.
Get down on thursday,
drains you in May.
You *****
so be-my-babe
i say be-my-babe
in black and white
like the Ramones
or the Ronettes or
the Rolling Stone
- i still want to know
how your insides look like,
- i still want to save
your capitalist nature
in my mother's fridge,
- i still want to fly
high on a jet plane with you,
alone,
with or without needs,
crashing on our bridge.
I love you-
love me!
I put my gun in your hands.
I push it. I shovel it.
My bones are broken
bound by all the words
i never dared to say
- and here, my love, right here,
i put IT in my mouth,
i feel the cold steel in my tongue,
-- how much blood from
such a tiny hole, Lizaveta!--
and this, and so much more.
but please, i say please,
would you feed me?
would you need me?
i'm a little angel drowning in candies
who's eating his heart out and ******** his candy
ah, would you say this? Would you?
Just because it ain't cool?
Well if i'm not cool i'll drive my kite all night
and take my lunchbox and
shoot Panama down and
shoot Mexico down and
shoot a *** smoker down
and shoot a crack dealer down
and shoot a beer dealer down and
shoot Mexico down
shoot Osaka down
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
my love will gun down all your school
Look at me - i say, look at me!
*Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!*
and don't you forget to say my name,
as i'll
****
YOUR
SKULL
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
Sitting in a run down bar
Toasting Christmas' once again
Making New Years Resolutions
That in eight days I'll amend
Watching Christmas Specials
On what happened this past year
All the while waiting
For another glass of beer
Commercials for electronic this
and battery powered that
Pill that **** your acne
Machines that **** your fat
Little plastic whatzit whos
That vibrate and make noise
Not one **** ad of one **** thing
For Christmas...girls and boys
Where did Christmas go to?
When did Christmas die?
When did Amazon take over?
Telling us just the things to buy
Where is Christmas spirit?
In a movie or a play?
At an office Christmas party?
It's all saved for Boxing Day
The beer arrives, we look about
The bar is filling fast
Most talking of the better days
The days of Christmas past
People on the tv set
On that **** show TMZ
Reality folks, who don't know real
At least not like you and me
I harken back to days of yore
When Christmas was so real
When there'd be fifteen aunts and uncles
At our house for a meal
When charity was normal
Cynics..few and far between
When Christmas trees dropped needles
And all had a slight lean
Where did Christmas go to?
When did Christmas die?
When did Amazon take over?
Telling us just the things to buy
Where is Christmas spirit?
In a movie or a play?
At an office Christmas party?
It's all saved for Boxing Day
It's getting on for closing time
It's time to get on home
Where, I am not sure of
It's nice...I'll think I'll roam
A bench, perhaps, inside the park
I think I'll be all right
I'll pick one near a walkway
By a nice and shiny light
Oh, most of us are homeless
We hit the missions for our meals
We drink some down at this old bar
We just like the way it feels
We spend Christmas Day together
Our extended family grows each year
But, before I go and find a bench
I think I'll throw back one last beer
Merry Christmas
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Why is life so sad?
is it because i'm naughty or bad?
Why can't people see what i do?
My stories, my artwork
Each one brand new.
Why can't people see what i see?
My dreams and ideas that need to be free.
Why do these people hate me so?
Am i grotesque or ugly..well...yes or no?
My voice is not heard,
I am much like a bird.
A plain bird...not pretty
Not outgoing or witty.
But a bird who gets missed,
And is not on the list,
Of specials, or rarest,
Or biggest, or fairest.
But a bird who sits quiet,
And very alone,
No longer important,
Not noticed, unknown.
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
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Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
You know those questions that you get
Like why is the sky blue?
The ones you can not answer
But, try to pass off that you do
Well I got one the other day
My son came up and said
What with Jesus and with Christmas
I told him...go to bed!
It's only three o'clock he said
Well...then...go and ask your mom
Dad, I already asked her and
you're where she said to come
I thought, my god, she owes me now
So, I told him, grab a seat
I figured I'd go down in flames
But, I'd fight in my defeat
He said, all the Christmas specials
talk of Christmas and that stuff
But, Rudolph, Garfield, Frosty
well, I think I've watched enough
Some talk of baby Jesus
Others talk of shops and toys
Why is Jesus linked to Christmas
And I answered him.....with poise
Jesus Christ, the son of God
came to earth in all his Glory
Now, go and read you bible
The games on...read the story
He trundled off, I thought I'd won
In an hour he returned
With that face, you know the one I mean
Dad...there's something that I learned
If Jesus Christ and Christmas
are tied together, as we see
Did they celebrate on Christmas Day
Before Christ turned thirty three?
I mean, was it Christmas for a reason
Or did it start once he was dead?
I thought, that's a good question
And it came from my boy's head
His mother brought hot chocolate
She still owed me, and she knew
that whatever payback I devised
would be multiplied by two
I said, son, the idea of true Christmas gifts
Dates to 313 A.D
Back to someone called Saint Nicholas
Santa Claus to you and m
The wise men came with presents
To celebrate the ****** birth
They celebrated the fact that God
had sent his son to earth
So, what does that have to do with snoopy
Rudolph, Jack Frost, my son said
I told him, read your bible
The story's there, no go to bed
He smiled and he hugged me
He said I think I know one part
It's that Christmas isn't presents
It's something you feel in your heart
It's a spirit of goodwill to man
And to all who you may meet
I said, yep...that's it
You've summed it up, maybe I should have a seat
So, Christmas isn't retail,
It can't be bought, it has no box
It's a feeling deep within you
though...this year I need some socks
It may have his name attached
But, true Christmas is defined
By our love for one another
and the love for all mankind
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
Stupid Kohl's commercial
Poking fun that she's not here
It'll be a lonely Christmas
Without Mrs. Claus this year.
They decorate the woman's house
With golden garland, lights
Hang the diamonds from the tree
For when she comes home that night.
It's like they knew she wasn't home
But I guess her home is now up there
She can celebrate with Grandpa now
I just wish they were still here.
No more Santa ornaments
Or stockings hanging low
No more fruit salad parties
Or reindeer food in the snow.
I can't seem to fathom it
That I must make another wreath
That this year you won't be helping us
No more Christmas specials to see.
So when I have the jingle bear
And I play the song for kicks
J-I-N-G-L-E Bells
I'll cry at the memories that stick.
I really love the holidays
I'd love them more if you hadn't gone
Enjoy your Christmas with Grampa, please
And play me the jingle song.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
Well sir !
Today we have, the usual, suicidal ****** paranoid drug addicts, skitzophrenic ******* that'll slice your neck open in a split second.
All the things you'd find in a mental institution.
Theres no place like home !
Walking these halls in my robe, and slippers.
You see darling, im not insane, they just think i am because well, im all of the above, ahahaha.
I didnt mean to **** that boy.
But ! He did say he loved me.
Who the **** would say that.
Filthy little liars.
He made it so ******* easy though.
But i did mean to **** him.
I didnt.
I did.
I didnt.
I did.
YOU'LL NEVER ******* KNOW.
There was this one day, they locked me up so tight, it left bruises on my ****** skin.
Oh **** !
Shh.
Shh.
Shh.
Do you hear that ?
What did the second one say ?
Well **** you too Elvis !
He wishes.
Ah, ****
Scars are showing again.
Oooh,theres a mirror in this room.
smash.
''Nurse !, Lunas done it again !''
****** Luna they called me in school.
But i killed them too.
Anyway, i sat there with a broken piece of mirror in my hands and carved pretty little pictures into myself.
But, i needed stitches.
Yay the doctor !
He makes me feel good, inside.
Probably because he ***** me so hard it leaves me pleasure until the next time i break a mirror.
He's older.
42 to be exact.
Im 15.
Isnt it cute.
His wife doesnt know.
Or his daughter, i went to school with that dog.
She was the first one i got rid of.
Cheerio.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
Everyone knows its a bad part of town,
no one lives there by choice.
Its this place called The Heat
down at the corner of holy gate
and 1-deuce-deuce.
There a girl there,
her real names Lucinda,
they say friends call her luci,
which is short for Lucifer,
and she works in The Heat
which is slick for hell.
They say she's called bass
"cause it look'a like a wide mouth bass
smell 'bout da same"
Nicknames and false alibis.
Luci works the Heat on taco Tuesdays.
They say she'll serve it hot for ten a song.
Fish taco Tuesdays.
They joke that it always smells like tuna anyways
even without fish taco Tuesdays.
They say on a good Friday,
The Heat almost becomes bearable
and every body watches old bass
swinging widemouthed and tasseled
around every pole in the bar.
But I can't bare it,
the kind of sadness in places like this
where they serve up breakfast
and Tuesday specials
for ten dollars a song.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
the first thing people would say upon our engagement is show me the ring like some bling is an ode of your love to me. i am not a homemaker i am a homebody. i excel in colombian coffee and monday night pub specials and cheap wine with expensive labels. i excel at being one of the guys and by being one of the guys i mean not being your wife. i filled the crevices you scraped in me like some kind of sculptor smoothing over past mistakes like being your wife was some kind of placebo pill i can sweat out with half-empty pizza boxes and grease stains on a couch that was never mine. when i first tell people about us about what i've done they say
but you two fit so well
but i liked you together
but you were going to get married
but but but
but they don't see your knuckles almost shaking hands with my jawline or the time i stared at you deadpan i'm not scared of you and i think that's what scared you that i'm no battered wife that i'll take you all bleed you dry then smile from the corner.
i am no battered wife like the woman who raised you
whose christmas-gifted blanket i'm currently curled under but whose 4 a.m. whispered words i cherish more he can't make you forget what you felt like your lies would forge me into the *bat **** crazy ***** you christened me but what i felt in your booze-stained breath amaretto-sweet words ice-diluted eyes was i am no battered wife
i am no laying next to you in bed at 30 with kids i couldn't convince myself to want and bruises that fit your fingers on my ribs. i'll take my tuesday tequila and too-loud laughs, my scrounging for quarters for just one more cup of coffee over your stability smirks.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
I've put a lot of it together over the years
Tables, cupboards, display cabinets
Not been a problem
IKEA specials
Get them home and a few hours later
A work of art
Until this last week
I work part time as the handyman in a large office complex
Got a call "can you come in for a few hours"
Not a problem!!!!
Can you assemble those desks
Those cupboards
Those six foot storage units
Easy, done this so many times before
Opened the boxes
All the instructions were in French
Trying to follow line drawings
Cam locks, cam spindles, nuts, bolts, screws
Honor was on the line
Failure not an option
11 million pieces later and all was complete
And 755 pounds going into my bank account
It wasn't 11 million pieces but it sure felt like it
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Here's one shot for giving up
And one more for giving in
Without a fight
When nicotine and alcohol
Can't dull the sense of the end
Trying to win with a losing hand
The cards I've been dealt never stack
Quite as high as the sky
The stars look so bright alone
That empty space magnified
Do we know that we're truly alone
Or does it take the bitter taste
Of one more rejection
To cross the line
A photo finish that no one read
Care is a concern for the snowy trees
The mysteries of life hold nothing
For an ant like me
Grind me under your heel
Grind me, a nuisance with my heart
Left longing for what
I look for answers in the moving train cars
But the perspective is only a blur
Colors flash by in meaningless shapes
To love or to live
That is the question my dear
With only one answer
And it is nothing, nothing that these ringing ears
Want to hear
The burning bridge can only moan
Under the weight of this heavy soul
Weighed down with too many years
Of beating half empty
The blood is oxygenated
Sparkling wine will only go so far
Before the chill sets in
Marlboro 27 specials kiss my lips
And lead me down this path
One step closer to death
If only I could inhale
You
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:28 PM UTC
Great Shamrock specials
walk around town with a sandwich board ringing a bell-
if music be the food of love -
PLAY BACK!
Alex Pike
Free Camping
A half price indulgence now open
plant identification skill for
another wet weekend of cricket.
"Hi, I'm Steve your carpet care man!"
"Well the skies cleared and the game started,
didn't look good early, but that is what happens in Dorrigo."
Last week the Eastern Wall of the Catholic Church was vandalised.
Chan's Chinese Resteraunt
beyond the rainbow.
Loving partner of Lance (Dec.) Aged 91 years.
The complete lifestyle package.
FREE!
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
I put away the tree and lights
I packed the tags and wrap
I was doing Christmas a favor
I was not giving crap
I chose to make Christmas simple
the way it should really be
This year for our dinner
There was only to be three
Instead of "pop trance" singles
I played hymns instead
And I didn't hang a stocking
At the end of my old bed
I didn't watch the specials
That were all over my tv
I just spent time this Christmas
That's the most precious gift to me
I treasure the things I'm given
I treasure what I earn
But if you do this at Christmas
There's something you will learn
Christmas doesn't come in a package
On a tree or from a mall
Christmas comes from inside us
And it makes you feel quite small
I could feel the Christmas spirit
With every box I packed
It was there inside my being
I had found what Christmas lacked
This year I'm going simple
And I must say one thing more
This year for Christmas dinner
There'll be us three and one more
The Christmas spirit joined us
We had a simple, hearty feast
And although I'm going simple
I can say Merry Christmas...at the least.
Merry Christmas
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
Glad that Fall is finally here. Not because of the pumpkin spice specials, nor the chilly weather.. Not that I enjoyed the summer heat anyway.
But what makes Fall important to me, is the beauty of realization. The eye opener of change. The hot weather becomes cooler, the leaves begin to change colors, the leaves start to fall.
Amazed by all of this, yet not seeing the true picture. If the weather, leaf colorcolors, & trees start to change, to show beauty, & rebirth. Why can't we?
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
"Angels can't be black, stupid" she said to me
And she said it so matter-of-factly
To the eight year old boy with a figurine
That his mother gave him, looking so kindly
And I didn't know of her words nonsensicle
But everywhere I looked, in books, store windows and tv specials
I saw that angels in serenity with floating halos
And all of them were white
So I was down, not surprisingly
Because think of how mad or sad you'd be
To find Heaven's hosts had no minorities
And that an angel could not be made of me
And angrier I became as on tears I choke
To be the **** of that little girl's joke
And to find all the words my mother spoke
Might be only lies and fairy tales
And with my head planted on my desk
The angel next to me did rest
As my teacher saw my distress
And question my obvious bitterness
I shrugged her off and her query grew
"Nik Bland, what in the world's eating you?"
And I told her what that girl and the whole world knew
About the fable of my figurine
And she listened to my childlike woes
As tears streamed down, sobs did grow
And she nodded as I said I did not know
A single place in the bible where minorities showed
A trace and she went up to the class
And spoke that, scientifically, in the past
It's been shown that the brown skinned and blacks
Were the colors of the first of the human race
So that sparked a fire within my mind
To realize that if humankind
Found a way to travel back in time
They might be seeing an ethnic Adam and Eve
And she showed me on the map the Middle East
And my heart rate slightly increased
To see it held Israel and Bethlehem, doubts then ceased
As I saw the mixed skin color of their people
And as the class pondered this, she came to me
And told me very quietly
Of her and her Christianity
And of Jesus, whose chose his mixed coloring
And with tears in her eyes, she put that angel in my hands
And to me that I must understand
That God looks past the color of the man
For He painted us all
And Christian or not, you must admittedly
Say that the world is a piece of artistry
That is incomparable to any man has in the making
And that we are all living here equally
And show we pass on, some soon than most
But with belief in Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
That eight year old boy could proudly boast
About the angel, so serene... and black
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 1:23 PM UTC
We are invisible when we are at our best.
And strung out in some park at our worst.
Ample source material
for PSA specials about why you should stay in school.
Have a cop yelling with a club raised
Some blond chick dazed
her boyfriend screams unfazed
By the violence inherent in the system
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
Half way up the hills
and eclectic group gather
at a narrow bar.
Leather jackets
occupy seats
by the door.
We sit
for a cigarette length of time
(cigarette length of time =
1 x 10 minutes
+ ≥ 10 minutes before
and/or after cigarette)
and walk
the dimly lit corridor
to the bar.
We sit
at a table for two
against a wall.
The band plays fiercely.
I've seen them before.
Their moxie
always brings
a rowdy crowd.
Behind them
apple crates
cling to the wall,
housing quirky decor.
Books, globes and vintage cameras.
A projector casts
lollipop swirls
and a singing silhouette.
Drink specials:
tequila mockingbird
I spoke to a Serbian girl I know.
She always wears glitter
and hazy eyes.
The more questions
I ask her
the longer I can listen
to her accent.
We spoke about the age old
nature vs nurture enigma,
and the life long impact
of a child's first six years.
She asked me
about my art.
It seems
that's all anyone
knows me for.
Outside, again, we sit.
For 5 x cigarette length of time.
Around me
people talk...
and talk.....
talk....
ta...
l...
k.
I'm sober.
Too **** sober.
My daydreams are broken
by a man.
He's bubbly and smiles a lot.
I like bubbly, smiley strangers.
We exchange stories
of our current lives.
He's a graphic designer,
and tells me
I should merge my art
and writing
into film,
and gifts me a flashlight.
I like quirky, bubbly, smiley strangers.
I'm left to retreat
back into my own thoughts.
It's less lonely in there.
I sort through memories,
recite lyrics,
observe the people around me
and watch them closely.
Their body language,
the way they bring
their glass to their mouth
and blow their smoke.
People interest me most
doing nothing in particular.
But I miss something,
and I can't quite pinpoint what.
I'm sober.
Too.
****
Sober.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 5:40 AM UTC