"specialties" poems
Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what that means
As I sit in front of the world's screen
Started in on ...Googling
I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred
From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat
Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling
The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two-headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact
How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer
Abstract art using cotton *****
How to paint between the lines on paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost
Food served upon the world's menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues
More artwork this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friend's nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose
80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time
How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling
I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling from behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
To the left and to the right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can even Google that
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
Until tonight they were separate specialties,
different stories, the best of their own worst.
Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy's
laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first
story. Someday, I promised her, I'll be someone
going somewhere and we plotted it in the humdrum
school for proper girls. The next April the plane
bucked me like a horse, my elevators turned
and fear blew down my throat, that last profane
gauge of a stomach coming up. And then returned
to land, as unlovely as any seasick sailor,
sincerely eighteen; my first story, my funny failure.
Maybe Rose, there is always another story,
better unsaid, grim or flat or predatory.
Half a mile down the lights of the in-between cities
turn up their eyes at me. And I remember Betsy's
story, the April night of the civilian air crash
and her sudden name misspelled in the evening paper,
the interior of shock and the paper gone in the trash
ten years now. She used the return ticket I gave her.
This was the rude **** of her; two planes cracking
in mid-air over Washington, like blind birds.
And the picking up afterwards, the morticians tracking
bodies in the Potomac and piecing them like boards
to make a leg or a face. There is only her miniature
photograph left, too long now for fear to remember.
Special tonight because I made her into a story
that I grew to know and savor.
A reason to worry,
Rose, when you fix an old death like that,
and outliving the impact, to find you've pretended.
We bank over Boston. I am safe. I put on my hat.
I am almost someone going home. The story has ended.
2.1k
Last night I read your poem
in bed instead of writing
like I'd said I would. I
had to start over twice
because my eyes aren't
as good as my heart
when it comes to stopping
and starting at pauses
heavy with losses. Lost
causes and me seem to be
your specialties. Especially me.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
After Pamela Sutton’s “Forty”
Since when are words lost, numbers dominating?
Until today, it was vernacular, not mathematics.
All changed at 18
when numbers engulfed my life like a tsunami.
1 life.
1 drive to school, traffic on the 405, 25 minutes;
10-minute parking; first class at 8.
8 dollars per hour x 3 day work week = no shopping.
Under my parents’ life insurance,
for now.
One life.
One dream of commencement, a sea of black and gold;
students as adults, graduating, growing up,
careers: the only things that matter now.
One dream of wheeling a patient into the OR
and he grasps my hand.
One saved life.
66 specialties for a nurse.
8 stories in CHOC Hospital;
279 beds.
One goal for everyone; nurses, patients, families—
disease-free, healthy.
One hospital specializing in children;
one in Orange, thousands of facilities.
One late night in Riverside the kitchen fluorescents
slowly brings the eyes of two, one father, one daughter,
to a close.
58 notecards, handwriting messy and smudged.
12 prefixes, 37 roots, 9 suffixes.
44 years: 1 student: Dad.
The point where my future was clear.
One goal, one career,
one life.
The subtle hum of the white lights lulls us to sleep
as the room slowly darkens.
September 2013
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
It was written in the beginning, a beginning before Britain, before folklore, gore and war. A beginning then, when the lords created, decorated and separated the night and also the bright, bright light. Therefore, a delight! In the beginning, creating the seven ways of days and the rays. The birth of earth, the black ravens, the havens and the heavens. A beginning of clean slates, dreams, schemes and themes!
As I blink and wink, badly and sadly I think… An ending, with fate or an ending with no ascending or commending date? Let’s debate and negotiate! A beginning, of Pharaohs, their arrows and the sparrows. An ending of sorrow? A beginning, borrowed from our hour’s tomorrow? An ending, I deem, that forever bends, defends, depends, pretends and never, ever seems to end. The heavens specialties and
hell’s cruelties. Governments and their restraints! Negative and positive lengths and strengths. A beginning and an ending; betrayed and strayed, long before many of us were to play or say. Stories of cities, glories and their pities! Starving nations and Haitians! Expensive vacations and relations! The elapsed and relapsed! Perhaps, the mishaps and disruption of our corruption’s eruption and ending
destruction? Hey! I say, let’s turn a page past the basked, the masked and vast. A fold past the cages that enrage-rage, wage and old age.
The detained delights, the petty fights and plights. Why can’t we each reunite? Unite forever! Drop and stop this harm and fight. Fly into the night, together with our almighty arms and mighty charms. Primarily, in the beginning or ending, let us not negatively but too positively and ultimately amend! Children, men and women, amen.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 8:18 AM UTC
Unspool your foggy self-
importances and seize the sheer, visceral present,
or simply ladle and spoon
the strait and narrow. Truth skims
the surface of the mind's eye -
immediacy and brutality (always your specialties)
are to be expected, even pursued,
the loosening of mind and its swindling of body
sifted under opportunistic eyes.
(I imagine tragedies rolling like marbles in your ivoried hands).
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
Originality is overrated
We are at our most original
The moment we are born
The rest of our lives is for specificity
Not for staring in awe at something different
But building with blocks already used
Style is arranging those pieces in ways
that are pleasing to our species
Humility is gaining pieces from others
Specificity is collecting as many components as possible
In the most unique manner available
Because when I'm traveling
I have a destination in mind
And it's not just anywhere
It's a specific city
We must sift through the mud to find the diamonds we build with
The dew forms on the grass at night
It's beauty eludes us until morning
As our terrace becomes a tower
Specialties become more apparent
As our tower becomes a tomb
Glory becomes more transparent
Not wanting to be a cliche is such a cliche
Tradition is our foundation
For we're only truly free once we're given constraints
Who do we ***** these facades for anyway?
Do we want everybody to enjoy our lobby?
Or do we want one person so interested
That they climb the rungs to the top floor?
I'd prefer the latter
So I continue growing new wings on my structure
To attain specificity
Until the day someone comes along and says
"Oh my God, I **** with this **** so hard, how did you know?"
I'll respond
"I have no idea what this is or how I built it."
But I built it for you
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC
There's a different muse that you can use
who helps stuck writers with the blues.
She wears black vinyl, comes on strong,
and loves to party all night long.
Her pink hair's spiked, her collar too. She
pops her gum while she talks to you.
Her music's loud, and so is she,
she inspired "Bad Company."
She loves to belt, though she can't sing,
she's got a song for everything.
Her specialties are punk and rap--
she'll scream you one in nothing flat.
Just don't ask for love songs, or
she'll flash her tat: reads "Love's a *****
Romance? No, she's got no time.
She'll sing you, "Love's no friend of mine:"
"I've been mistreated and abused,
it's love that makes me sing the blues.
I don't want no love no more--
when love walks in, I'm out the door!"
So helpful, when you're feeling that
love's appealing as a road-killed cat.
A real romantic antidote, she'll
sink your boat, if it's still afloat.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 6:08 AM UTC
My legs are smooth.
My arms are smooth.
My lips are smooth.
My personality is smooth.
Smooth and sly
Like James Bond as a cat.
I can steal too
Like the man who stole the moon.
With my specialties
I could easily take you over.
I could sneak up behind you,
Like a sly, sly dog,
Trick you with the smoothness of me,
And steal everything you own,
Including your heart.
I guess you could say
I'm just that sneaky.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
Discerning wastes by the way we trace
Erasing bad tastes from our face
Til the internal happiness takes it's place
Fumbling habits were now laced with grace.
Brighter are the fires we chase
Eyes wider, the wildflowers are looking up
Vitamin d rush,
accompanied by the satisfaction
that happens with this chance to touch.
So many actions were taken to please,
but now we naturally seek necessity.
Loving everything endlessly
Catering to our specialties
Waking up inside our pleasant dreams.
Getting to see beyond the scenes, and understand why we can be so easily carried like leaves once free.
Narrating with speculation,
generating all you wanna be.
Accomplishing with mindful reminders to breathe.
Beauty is the beast, perceived in a different form.
What's truth honestly may not be the norm -
but we branch out like the mighty tree
& embrace the storm pouring soulful warmth.
So peace to you and yours.
Make great with the way you spend time having been reborn.
Adorn your temple, with any methods or colors you choose.
Show care for the confession hidden breathless in a bruise,
and be thankful for the light spectrum expression
highlighting time to still choose.
With that awareness comes the space ready to take in the lessons and Synchronicities we are blessed with.
I know I've made a mess of this, testing abilities to clean.
Release disharmony and leftover negative energy streams.
Just need room to be, fly swirling within serenity.
Faith suddenly gleams over the horizon, "Hi Son"
"Hi Sun. I see you glowing keeping everything flowing.
Knowing you're watching over me feels healthier
than taking potion.
Thank you for letting me be at ease with my uncertainty.
Clouds part, allowing light right through, perfectly
Learning to lessen the level of fear
by looking at self by way of Mirrors,
reflecting back at different angles with messages so moving.
Here we are, allllright, and all one.
Hands in the shared air, have fun, no need to run.
Prepare to open to a sea of signs that will stun.
Soak in love of present feeling, heart in sync with mother earth.
I must say I'm very gracious to have been acquainted with life in this corner of the youniverse.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
Soles ran down on the edges,
rubber, wood, plastic and other
manmade material they all walk the same.
Scuff marks, some unpolished,
dust on top, dirt on the bottom and
some wet from the puddles in the street.
Name brands, some unknown,
faded, two tones, heels high and low,
some have taken on many countless steps.
Strings laced, untied and tight,
some small and long, medium, large
and some come in x's, size 0 to 14 and more.
Gators, leather, cloth, and eel,
other synthetic fibers and filaments,
some cheap and some tagged as the very best.
Made for comfort and specialties,
colors of black, brown, red, and blue
midnight, taupe, white, orange and pink.
Universally worn by most,
one size that fits the world for sure
whether they're old, used or shiny new.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
**she pretends~polite irascibly
enquires:**
“So far, and so early,
when your day begins,
when the main brain
rebels with that creature of energetic ether,
be it midnight or any hour
thereafter,
before daylight
brings you new clearer
and brighter brilliant visions of the
hereafter,
and the earnest hours allow your disquiet
pre~tense that you’re going about you busyness, which is a plain brown paper wrapper guise,
to write more poetry’s
that thy thine, your
“eyes~command, nay, demand?”
“And where are my love poem daily promised, premised that it’s a requirement
for our cooperative living arrangement?”
“I am familiar with your many ways, poet,
all your names, viewpoints, specialties,
your secret personas, insider insights that
fool no one, so start your every twenty four on a left foot forward, questioning us, yourself, where shelter lives, even inviting any and all passersby to come inside your scheming mind, and stay awhile, jointly**
compositing
upon your uncomfortable
Adirondack thrones, while permitting the sun to burnish brown caramel your inner sweetness, and the wind to bring you scents
from faraway places, to pluck and insert in a variegated languages plurality, to spice up
those written words you ridiculous store in your tiny iPhone, typing one letter at a time,
trying not to fall behind what the mind is
churning and breeding?”
“Furthermore and finally. confess, confess,
your shame, shame,
shame!!
it is my
name
that
deserves the unvarnished truth,
without my
everything,
your poetry will
wither like
a week old roses,
that she/me/da boss
is the one true
authoress
behind the
boy/oy/toy/pretender
to whom I give my very
soul’s inspiration…
Nov 16, 2024
Nov 16, 2024 at 8:21 AM UTC
Last night,
I got out a bottle of Jack Daniels,
a blanket, an old stereo,
shaved everywhere,
lit candles in the house,
he’d told me he was coming over,
I thought about how we would sit outside on the porch,
I thought about how we would drink whiskey,
I thought about how we would kiss.
Our kiss wouldn’t have been an ordinary kiss,
Our kiss would lead him to realize I was who he wanted.
He never came over.
I finished all the Jack Daniels on the porch,
listened to the metal on the swing grind
as I pushed back and forth.
This morning I began to read my book for school,
“The Tupinamba were known to be cannibals.”
I wonder if he is just scared that’s why,
“They loved human flesh.”
During the show last week I know saw him looking at me the whole time,
“The fingers and grease around the liver were specialties, saved for distinguished members.”
I’ll wear my new jeans tonight at the party, they make my **** look good,
“The smaller muscles in the legs were distributed equally among the children.”
But.. he said he likes that black dress of mine… I'm going to wear that,
“Old women rushed to drink the warm blood.”
I put down the book.
Outside my window the rain came in louder waves.
Tonight would be cold.
Showing my legs would be ridiculous.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
From the start there has been friction
for nearly as long as I have lived
the signs say that I'm going the wrong way
but I refuse to listen
I choose to fight the system
for the betterment of my life
people disagree with me for the sole purpose of conformity
because they think they know what is best for me
Things have always been uncertain
the path, the method, the destination, the purpose
but that will all change
because I say it will
because I will make it change
because I have found the clearing
The people of my life come in two
Those that question
Those that admire
each are of value to me
learning and defying
are my specialties
until now I've never been able to prove
that my way is worth the fighting
the blood, sweat, and tears
of this experience
until now, the clearing has eluded me
It has shown me what the real foe is
what needs to be done to fix it
Life is cannot be fantasized
love everything you fight for
fight for everything you love
in spite of short comings and failures
because everything is worth it when the clearing comes.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
I am an utter shining star
Since the unknown gross start
But I wasted my full brightness
To pour lightnings over every corner
Instead to radiate on a single inch
Do I regret?
Not yet!
For I follow the natural path of the holism
But my sight may rarely reach
The inner core of a veil
From each way someone looks
At me they won’t be able to measure
The entire strength of my light
It will be spread
In several tiny sparks
Even when I am the big apple that hits
I will be just the slice that fits
Do I pay?
Indeed I say!
By the noisy specialties of the hand
I can see the gaps in my eyes
Feeling the cracks of my soul
The bass & treble of my voice
Through the voices of others
Is dismantled
Even if the absence I fill
Of our absolute love in me
In each second
I will never be
The real me
And every act
Will be a deaf echo
Of the universe of me
You will think I am always less
You will never see me fully
You will never understand me truly.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
you can meet a person and spend the rest of your time together introducing yourself, talking favorites and specialties and things you don't like or understand. and sometimes you meet a person and you talk talk talk for days about philosophy and love and war and hate and bad habits. but when you meet a person, and you say hello, just once you say hello, and from that moment on you don't speak, you don't pick their brain, you just take them by the hand and share the magic that you find, and you observe how their eyes begin to show what their mind is letting them see, and in turn, you collect a memory of their soul, escaping through the eyes, because the eyes say more than words. no thoughts of response, just reflex of emotion, pure from insecurities humans own.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
We don’t get to be young,
We need to grow old,
We need to make choices
We need to go places,
and make sacrifices.
Life is not easy or constant,
Life is a path and not a contest,
Comparing yourself to everyone else
Is simple to do but bad for your health.
We don’t get to have fun,
We need to come undone,
We need to stop smiling, laughing and crying.
Life is a lie with one sole purpose,
Which has yet to rise to the surface
“You don’t get to be young,
you need to grow old”
This is what my mom believes,
But frankly this idea is meant to deceive.
If we don’t live now,
We could just say “ciao” to all our specialties,
And get drowned in legacies,
Without finding any remedies to our promised infancies.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
There is peace knowing you died with your family
The love in that room could seen through the darkness of that June night
The kind of love that melts you
We held you and let you go
Leaving us with the greatest of memories
Midnight walks
Sunshine naps
Ocean swims
And long drives
Some of your specialties
There is peace knowing your heart was happy from your first day to your last
There is no peace in your absence
Midnight walks
Sunshine naps
Ocean swims
long drives
Most of all the sound of you
Will never feel the same
The green grass remembers you
You
My sweet sunshine boy have changed me
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 3:41 AM UTC